FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY  HIM   TO 

THE  LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/autobioOOfryc 


/ 

AN  AUTOBIOGRA 


'a- 


OCT  27  1931 


i&LSEtt^ 


AND 


LETTERS, 


of     t/^y 
CatoUNe    rv 


n 


THE   AUTHOR   OF    "THE   LISTENER," 
"CHRIST   OUR   LAW,"   &c. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

J.    W.    MOORE, 

193   CHESTNUT    STREET. 

1849. 


Isaac  Ashmead,  Printer. 


PREFACE. 


The  Editor  considers  it  due  to  the  memory  of 
the  subject  of  the  memoir,  which  is  placed  at  the 
commencement  of  the  present  volume,  to  state,  that 
it  was  written  by  his  beloved  wife  at  different 
periods,  as  memoranda  of  the  most  important  part 
of  her  life ;  intended  to  be  continued  from  time  to 
time,  until  they  should  be  ultimately  remodelled 
into  a  connected  narrative. 

She  did  not  live  to  fulfil  this  intention;  and  it 
must  therefore  be  remembered,  that  these  imperfect 
records  were  never  designed  to  be  published  in 
their  present  form ;  but  well  knowing  her  anxious 
wish  to  proclaim  the  Saviour's  love  to  one  who 
had  despised  and  rejected  him,  and  her  conviction 
that  by  such  an  avowal,  his  grace  would  be  magni- 
fied, the  editor  deems  himself  entrusted  with  a 
sacred  duty,  which  he  cannot  better  perform,  than 
by  giving  the  narrative,  scanty  and  imperfect  as  it 


Jv  PREFACE. 

is,  in  her  own  words.  He  presents  it,  therefore, 
without  comment,  and  unaccompanied  with  any 
particulars  of  her  history  subsequent  to  the  period 
at  which  her  own  memoir  closes. 

After  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  her 
religious  sentiments,  the  subject  of  this  memoir  was 
severely  disciplined  in  the  school  of  adversity,  and 
no  doubt  her  sorrows  were  instrumental  in  estab- 
lishing her  faith,  exalting  her  Christian  profession, 
and  fitting  her  for  the  special  service  of  that  Mas- 
ter, whose  love  was  the  constraining  principle  of 
her  life.  Of  this  devotedness  her  published  works 
furnish  abundant  testimony ;  and  those  letters  of 
the  present  collection,  which  were  written  within 
a  few  days  of  her  death,  will  give  evidence  of  the 
power  and  permanence  of  that  faith  which  sustained 
her  through  a  long  period  of  trial,  made  the  ap- 
proach of  death  joyous,  and  prepared  her  for  the 
heaven  which  she  so  ardently  anticipated.  No  one 
who  witnessed  the  closing  hours  of  her  life  could 
refrain  from  adopting  the  prophet's  exclamation, 
"  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my 
last  end  be  like  his !" 

Many  of  the  letters  now  published  are  interest- 
ing, as  containing  valuable  reflections  on  topics  of 
the  deepest  interest  to  the  Church  of  Christ  at  the 


PREFACE. 


*    V 

present  period ;  and  the  others  are  replete  with  the 
sentiments  and  opinions  of  one  "  who  walked  with 
God." 

The  Editor  dismisses  these  collections,  ardently 
hoping  that  the  perusal  of  them  may  be  accom- 
panied with  the  Divine  blessing,  and  that  while 
they  conduce  to  the  edification,  comfort  and  en- 
couragement of  many,  they  may  be  subservient  to 
the  praise  of  Him,  who,  in  accomplishing  the  mys- 
terious designs  of  His  grace  and  providence,  not 
unfrequently  condescends  to  employ  the  humblest 
instrumentality  of  human  agency. 


CONTENTS 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

CHAPTER  L— Birth  and  Childhood,          -        -  13 

II. — Early  Youth,       -        -        -        -  39 

III. — Early  Womanhood,      -        -        -  46 

IV. — Conversion, 60 

LETTERS, 82 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Since  it  has  pleased  God  to  give  publicity  to  a 
name  obscure,  to  an  extent  that  may  hereafter 
excite  the  public  curiosity  respecting  her  that  bore 
it ;  and  since  it  may  please  Him  also  to  get  himself 
honour  by  the  manifestation  of  His  goodness  and 
mercy,  in  the  record  of  her  life — feeling  that  it  will 
be  impossible  for  any  one  else,  to  state  truly  that 
which  alone  is  worth  recording, — the  history  of  her 
mental  and  spiritual  existence, — she  is  induced  to 
put  down  at  her  leisure  these  notices  of  herself; 
rendered  the  more  necessary  by  the  fact,  that  she 
has  never  kept  a  diary,  or  any  kind  of  memoranda, 
of  even  the  most  important  occurrences  of  her  life. 
Should  that  time  ever  come,  which  in  the  plenitude 
of  her  happiness  it  becomes  her  to  anticipate,  when 
with  powers  and  faculties  remaining,  the  interests 
and  affections  of  this  world  will  have  terminated, 
it  is  her  present  thought  to  collate  these  materials, 
and  such  of  her  letters  as  can  be  collected,  into  a 
regular  memoir.     Of  this,  God  knoweth.     1839. 


MEMOIRS,    &c 


CHAPTER  I. 

BIRTH  AXD  CHILDHOOD. 

Caroline  Fry  was  born  at  Tunbridge  Wells  on  the 
31st  of  December,  1787,  being  one  of  ten  children, 
and  seven  daughters. 

Of  her  who  makes  these  records,  the  remotest 
recollections  are  of  a  most  happy  and  too  indulgent 
home,  where,  without  the  elegances  or  the  restraints 
of  polite,  or  even  social  life,  every  comfort  was  in 
profuse  abundance,  and  all  pleased  themselves  after 
their  own  manner. 

Being  the  youngest  but  one  of  a  family  whose 
births  extended  through  more  than  twenty  years,  she 
remembers  but  few  of  her  brothers  and  sisters  as 
children,  and  the  prescriptive  right  by  which  the 
youngest  child  of  a  large  family  is  spoiled,  was  ex- 
tended in  her  favour  to  the  two  youngest,  the  hu- 
moured pets  of  a  most  loving  father.  He  never 
walked  out  but  they  were  one  at  each  side  of  him — 
they  accompanied  him  during  great  part  of  the  day 
to  his  farm,  or  his  houses,  the  building  of  which  w'as 
2 


J4  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

his  great  pursuit,  and  pleasure.  He  called  them  his 
ladies,  chose  their  dress,  taught  them  to  read  the  news- 
papers, talk  of  politics,  and  play  at  whist  with  him 
every  evening,  and  above  all,  under  surety  of  his 
protection,  to  set  at  defiance  all  other  authority  and 
control.  I  have  been  told  that  on  his  death-bed  he 
spoke  painfully  of  having  spoiled  his  two  youngest 
children,  then  about  twelve  and  fourteen  years  of 
age.  Pie  did  not  foresee  what  adversity  and  the  in- 
terposition of  divine  grace  would  do  to  mend  his 
work;  so  that,  however  their  difficulties  were  in- 
creased, and  their  sins  accumulated  by  this  early  in- 
dulgence, they  grew  up  to  be  neither  the  least  be- 
loved, the  least  useful,  nor  the  least  prosperous  of 
his  children. 

And  yet  the  fear  of  this  indulgent  father's  dis- 
approbation, was  the  only  restraint  Caroline  re- 
members to  have  felt.  His  absence  from  home  for 
a  whole  day,  which  never  occurred  but  at  a  general 
election,  a  special  jury  case,  or  some  other  such 
event,  was  a  signal  for  the  outbreaks  of  insurbordi- 
nation,  and  the  doing  of  all  sorts  of  prohibited 
things: — her  other  parent  being  a  quiet,  careful,  do- 
mestic woman,  an  object  more  of  affection  than 
deference,  at  least  to  these  little  people,  who  held 
themselves  out  of  her  jurisdiction. 

More  influential  even  than  this  partial  fondness, 
was  the  father's  abiding  impression,  whencesoever 
derived,  that  his  children  were,  or  were  to  be,  or 
ought  to  be,  above  the  position  of  life  in  which  they 
were  born— his  sons  were  not  to  be  brought  up  to 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  J  5 

trade — his  daughters  might  not  marry  men  in  trade 
— his  little  girls  might  not  associate  or  play  with  any 
children  of  equal  condition  with  themselves.  To  this 
inborn,  inbred  opinion  of  their  own  importance,  pro- 
ductive of  some  good  results  no  doubt,  must  be  at- 
tributed no  small  part  of  the  difficulties  and  misfor- 
tunes of  their  family  after  their  father's  death,  and 
the  little  success  that  attended  most  of  them  notwith- 
standing the  more  than  ordinary  talents  distributed 
to  them  by  Providence,  and  in  a  moral  and  human 
sense,  their  actual  deserving.  The  grace  of  God, 
and  the  calling  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  determined,  we 
cannot  doubt,  the  destiny  of  the  eldest  son,  the  Rev. 
John  Fry,  Rector  of  Desford,  sufficiently  well  known 
as  the  author  of  many  works  of  talent,  piety,  and 
learning. 

On  Caroline  the  only  effect  of  this  parental  am- 
bition, was  probably  that  which  it  had  upon  her  edu- 
cation, and  early  associations,  rather  than  upon  her 
ultimate  destination.  She  inclines  to  think  that  even 
education  rather  left  her  what  she  was,  than  made 
her  anything.  Her  recollection  of  her  own  charac- 
ter, temper,  feeling,  is  from  the  first  so  very  like  to 
what  it  was  at  last,  it  would  appear  to  her  that  na- 
ture has  been  too  strong  for  any  influences  acting 
from  without — at  least  till  a  divine  power  interposed 
to  alter  its  own  workmanship,  and  that  but  slowly 
and  partially  to  the  last,  rather  to  modify  than  to 
change.  Back  to  eight  or  ten  years  of  age.  she  can 
well  remember  that  intense,  unreasonable,  almost 
maddening  anguish,  which  through  all  the   changes 


|0  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

of  her  changeful  life  has  known  no  suspension,  and 
up  to  this  day  no  diminution,  produced  upon  her  by 
a  sense  of  unkindness,  or  injustice,  or  discourage- 
ment, often  imaginary,  always  exaggerated.  Nobody 
knew  then,  or  ever  has  known,  or  ever  can  know, 
the  mental  agony  of  these  moments,  followed  by  fits 
of  depression,  self-reproach,  and  despondency  hereto- 
fore scarcely  endurable,  but  now,  blessed  be  God, 
commixed  with  that  prostration  of  spirit,  and  utter 
self-abandonment,  which  is  not  all  misery,  since  in  it 
is  realized  the  full  value  of  redeeming  love,  and  the 
sweet  sympathy  of  a  once-suffering  Redeemer.  He 
knows,  what  she  never  herself  has  known,  how 
much  of  this  passion  is  sin,  and  how  much  is  only 
misery.  The  bitter  and  resentful  words  to  which,  if 
the  occasion  serves,  it  will  give  vent,  are  sin  of  course, 
and  the  pain  thus  given  to  others,  is  often  the  bitter- 
est and  most  abiding  woe  ;  but  this  is  rather  the 
casualty,  than  the  character  of  these  passionate  fits  : 
— unless  something  from  without  unhappily  strikes 
upon  the  wound  in  the  moment  of  irritation,  the 
originating  cause  of  which  may  be  no  party  to  the 
suffering,  it  is  endured  in  secrecy  and  silence. 

Reverting  to  her  childhood,  she  remembers  to  have 
often  passed  whole  days  and  nights  in  tears;*  and 
when  pressed  by  her  parents  for  the  cause,  unable  or 
ashamed  to  give  the  true  one,  has  complained  of  pain 


*  At  all  times  of  her  life  these  violent  and  prolonged  fits  of 
crying  have  occasionally  occurred.  Were  they  not  the  safety- 
valves  of  an  over-actuated  brain? 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  ]  7 

and  sickness  which  she  did  not  feel,  and  suffered 
them  to  administer  remedies  as  for  a  bodily  ailment. 
She  has  often  questioned  since,  whether  those  tender 
parents  did  not  judge  more  accurately  than  appeared, 
of  these  fits  of  aggravated  feeling;  for  she  well  re- 
members that  the  remedial  measures  taken  to  restore 
her,  were  a  piece  of  cold  meat  at  breakfast,  a  glass 
of  strong  ale  at  dinner,  or  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  even- 
ing. Whatever  there  may  have  been  since,  when 
knowledge  of  the  extravagance,  and  experience  of  the 
mischiefs  of  these  morbid  sensibilities  might  have 
afforded  some  defence  against  them,  there  was  no 
sin  in  them  at  that  early  age,  and  the  memory  of 
what  she  suffered  has  throughout  life  produced  in 
her  the  greatest  tenderness  and  forbearance  towards 
the  tempers  and  feelings  of  children,  and  a  disposition 
to  treat  them  more  as  maladies  than  faults.*  To  the 
truth  of  this,  though  ignorant  of  the  cause,  many  can 

*  Tt  is  distinctly  in  her  recollection  that  on  one  occasion, 
wanting-  to  make  known  to  her  mother  the  depression  of  her 
mind,  and  not  having  courage  to  speak  of  it,  being-  then  a  pro- 
fessed rhymer,  she  wrote  to  her  in  the  following  terms, — of  the 
last  word  she  did  not  know  the  meaning,  and  remembers  being 
told  it  afterwards.     She  was  probably  about  nine  years  old  : — ■ 

I  am  not  very  well, 

And  no  mortal  can  tell 

What  is  my  pain, 

When  I  am  profane, 
— no  specimen  of  early  genius,  but  certainly  one  of  premature 
mental  suffering,  without  external  cause — for  to  misfortune  or 
bodily  pain  she  was  a  stranger,  and  almo?t  so  to  the  slightest 
contradiction. 

2* 


JQ  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

I 

testify  who  may  hereafter  read  these  pages,  some 
perhaps  who  have  either  suffered  or  benefited  by  in- 
dulgence, according  as  it  was  good  or  evil  in  its 
effects  upon  those  committed  to  her  care.  For  her- 
self, through  those  long  and  many  years  in  which 
she  lived  a  stranger  in  the  stranger's  home,  her 
thoughts  untold,  her  feelings  all  unshared,  it  may  be, 
there  were  some  who  understood  her  better  than  she 
understood  herself;  and  can  tell  in  what  manner  this 
feeling  manifested  itself,  and  w7ill  call  it  by  its  right 
name.  They  need  not  spare  to  do  so,  for  she  would 
if  she  knew.  All  she  can  recal  with  certainty,  is  the 
intensity  of  her  sufferings,  and  the  strangeness  and 
unfitness,  to  say  the  least,  of  the  conduct  it  occasion- 
ally produced,  of  which  more  will  be  told  hereafter.* 
In  these  her  last,  best  days,  when  all  is  viewed  by 
the  clear  light  of  heaven,  all  transacted  under  the  eye 
of  the  Omniscient,  all  shared,  all  treated  of,  all  pray- 
ed over  in  close  communion  with  the  blessed  Saviour, 
the  only  amelioration  of  the  pain  is  found  in  that 
sweet  sympathy. 

But  that  which  through  all  her  life  she  longed  for, 
as  an  impossible  solace,  that  some  one  could  dwell 
w7ithin  her,  and  see  what  she  herself  could  never 
understand, — that  solace,  that  impossibility,  has  been 
attained.     Jesus,  before  whom  these  irrational  tears 


*  Sleep — even  the  peaceful  slumbeis  of  her  most  happy  days, 
is  often  no  defence  against  this  suffering — under  the  influence 
of  a  dream  of  some  act  of  unkindness  or  injustice  done  her,  she 
often  wakes  in  an  agony  of  tears. 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  19 

are  shed,  Jesus,  with  whom  these  morbid  sensibilities 
are  shared — He  does  know — He  knows  how  much  is 
sin,  how  much  is  misery — how  much  to  be  repented 
of,  and  how  much  only  to  be  borne  ;  and  He  can  sym- 
pathize alike  with  all,  for  He  and  He  only  pities  sin, 
as  much  as  He  pities  sorrow,  and  speaks  peace  to 
the  contrite,  as  well  as  to  the  afflicted.  Under  the 
deep  sense  of  sin,  and  helplessness,  and  self-abhor- 
rence, that  now  accompanies  every  return  of  this 
mental  anguish,  and  adds  to  its  poignancy,  she  need 
not  tell  him,  and  He  need  not  tell  her,  the  source  and 
nature  and  culpability  of  her  feelings.  She  can  say 
to  him — and  O  thou  blessed  one  !  how  often  hast  thou 
heard  it! — "Lord!  thou  knowest,"  and  he  can  answer 
"  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee."  It  is  sufficient ; 
sufficient  for  Jonah  in  the  great  deep,  whither  his 
own  wilfulness  had  brought  him ;  and  for  Daniel  in 
the  den  to  which  his  enemies  consigned  him,  and  for 
her  who  in  hours  of  such  deep  and  untold  anguish, 
as  made  her  cry  aloud  to  God  for  release  from  the 
body  of  this  death,  knows  and  feels  and  proves  He  is 
sufficient — and  puts  it  here,  where  properly  it  does 
not  belong,  lest  she  should  never  reach  that  part 
of  her  soul's  history,  in  which  it  should  be  found: — 
183S. 

To  return  to  her  childhood  ;  the  same  restless  im- 
patience of  what  she  did  not  like,  even  when  person- 
ally unaffected  by  it;  the  same  eagerness  in  the  pur- 
suits of  the  moment,  and  speedy  indifference  to  the 
objects  so  eagerly  pursued ;  the  same  extreme  en- 
joyment of  simple  and  trifling  things,  even  existence 


20 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


itself  without  adventitious  pleasures,  when  there  was 
no  actual  cloud  upon  it,  the  same  disproportioned 
pain  from  trifles,  also,  brief  as  it  was  excessive — the 
same  very  peculiar  contrariety  of  character,  that  kept 
perpetual  dissonance  between  the  intellect  and  feel- 
ings,— in  common  language,  between  the  head  and 
heart,  the  judgment  that  seldom  erred,  and  the  feel- 
ings by  which  it  was  always  overpowered — the  same 
excessive  desire  to  please,  and  aptness  to  displease 
by  precipitancy  and  want  of  tact — the  same  innate 
consciousness  of  talent,  and  painful  timidity  in  the 
exercise  and  exhibition  of  it — all  this,  through  all 
her  life,  she  can  trace  back  to  her  remotest 
memory  of  herself;  much  indeed  that  education 
might  have  corrected  and  did  not,  but  left  to 
grow  like  the  wild  rose  of  the  wilderness,  in  strange 
and  rude  luxuriance,  all  redolent  alike  of  thorns  and 
flowers,  to  feel  and  know,  and  painfully  regret  through 
all  her  days,  she  was  not,  and  could  not  be,  what  her 
natural  endowments  seemed  designed  to  make  her. 
Now  she  knows  that  herein  God  was  right,  though 
man  was  wrong;  for  it  resulted  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  talent  was  at  all  times  more  a  source  of  hu- 
miliation than  of  pride.  When  she  might  have  felt 
elevated  above  her  fellows,  she  felt  only  degraded 
below  herself;  and  where  is  the  sinner  so  safe  as  in 
the  dust?  True  these  are  late  conclusions,  that  did 
not  cast  their  consolatory  influence  through  the  years 
gone  by,  but  they  are  conclusions,  and  she  has  come 
to  say  with  Paul,  "  I  glory  in  my  infirmities,  since 
when  I  am  weak,  then  am  I  strong;" — it  is  best  to 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


21 


be  nothing,  that  Christ  may  be  all  in  all.  How  little 
is  it  known  to  the  aspirants  of  mankind,  that  such  a 
feeling,  when  it  can  be  realized,  is  bliss,  with  which 
the  triumphant  successes  of  the  creature  have  nothing 
to  compare. 

Caroline  had  not  to  complain  of  a  neglected  edu- 
cation, as  far  as  education  is  comprehended  in  mere 
instruction.  School  was  not  to  be  thought  of;  she 
never  slept  from  under  the  same  roof  with  her  father 
during  his  life-time,  nor  as  she  believes  ever  was  ten 
miles  from  home  but  once,  when  he  took  her  and  her 
younger  sister,  on  a  visit  to  their  brother,  then  recent- 
ly married  and  settled  in  London.  The  instruction 
of  the  younger  girls  was  therefore  committed  to  the 
elder,  who  had  been  educated  at  what  were  then 
thought  good  schools  ;  the  aspirings  of  the  family  ex- 
tended both  to  knowledge  and  accomplishments,  and 
though  the  opportunities  were  small,  the  most  was 
made  of  them;  and  at  a  time  when  girls  in  that  sta- 
tion of  life  learned  very  little,  and  were  thought  best 
employed  in  domestic  duties,  and  the  operation  of 
the  needle,  in  this  family  every  thing  was  at  least  at- 
tempted, and  books,  drawing,  and  music  were  the  oc- 
cupations of  the  younger  people — the  return  of  the 
eldest  brother  from  Oxford  at  each  vacation  afford- 
ing a  great  stimulus  to  this  literary  taste,  by  acces- 
sion of  books  and  other  information  which  could 
scarcely  otherwise  have  reached  them,  in  their  ex- 
clusion from  the  reading  world.  Many  studies  were 
thus  introduced,  which  common  as  they  are  now, 
were  not  so  then — such  as  Botany,  Chemistry,  As- 


22  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPY. 

tronomy,  &c,  and  the  young  people  being  all  con- 
siderably gifted  by  nature,  were  prodigies  of  learn- 
ing in  the  estimation  of  their  equals.  Often  as  the 
recollections  of  this  irregular  school-room  and  its 
high  pretensions,  have  since  provoked  a  smile, 
Caroline  knows  she  was  indebted  to  it  for  a  great 
deal  of  solid,  early  acquit  ed  knowledge,  which  the 
most  expensive  school  at  that  period  would  not  have 
afforded;  while  some  of  its  deficiencies  have  never 
ceased  to  be  inconveniently  felt. 

She  has  no  recollection  of  pain  or  difficulty,  or  un- 
willingness in  learning — but  a  distinct  one  of  plea- 
sure in  buying  a  sixpenny  book,  (the  History  of  a 
Mouse)  the  first  she  remembers  to  have  possessed, 
when  she  could  have  been  but  a  very  few  years  old. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that  her  partial  and  loving 
parents  should  underrate  or  disregard  the  first  de- 
velopment of  talent,  little  as  they  did  to  cultivate 
and  direct  it.  At  eight  years  old,  little  Caroline  was 
an  established  poet  laureate  in  the  family,  who  was 
to  write  a  copy  of  verses  on  every  birth-day,  saints- 
day,  fast-day  or  thanksgiving-day,  and  every  victory 
by  sea,  or  land,  sufficiently  numerous  in  those  war- 
like days;  in  the  inspiring  hope  of  receiving  presents 
of  money  or  pretty  things,  from  whoever  had  the  good 
fortune  to  receive  the  dedications  of  her  muse.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  any  of  these,  at  least  profitable  pro- 
ductions, extending  as  they  did  from  eight  to  four- 
teen years  of  age,  are  still  in  existence; — if  they  are, 
it  must  be  in  the  hands  of  her  sisters.     She  has  the 


BIKTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  23 

impression  that  they  were   not  so  good  as  a  great 
many  children  write  at  that  age. 

However,  they  were  not  thought  slightly  of  then, 
and  that  destiny  so  vainly  afterwards  resisted,  was 
the  first  ambition  of  her  life — to  be  an  author, 
especially  to  be  a  poet ;  for  general  as  was  her  taste 
for  reading,  and  eager  as  her  interest  in  all  kinds  of 
knowledge,  poetry  was  undoubtedly  the  predominant 
taste.  Some  trifling  circumstances,  distinct,  as  if  of 
yesterday,  upon  her  memory,  may  evince  how  strong 
and  inborn  this  literary  ambition  was.  Well  is  the 
feeling  remembered,  with  which,  sitting  upon  her 
father's  knee,  she  heard  a  conversation  between  him 
and  her  mother,  originated  by  his  declaration,  that 
he  would  have  his  two  youngest  girls  taught  Latin. 
It  was  an  extravagant  proposition  certainly,  consider- 
ing the  actual  station  of  the  parties,  and  the  rarity  of 
the  accomplishment  at  that  period,  but  proportioned 
to  her  intense  desire  for  learning  was  her  silent  re- 
sentment against  her  mother  for  the  opposition  that 
defeated  this  intent.  Her  childish  impression  of  the 
necessity  of  knowing  other  languages,  in  order  to  be- 
come an  author  in  her  own,  was  a  source  of  contin- 
ual discouragement  and  depression  to  her,  for  she 
guessed  not  how  easy  it  w7ould  be  to  attain  them  for 
herself.  She  remembers  saying  to  some  one  of  her 
family,  on  it  being  suggested  that  she  might  be  a 
Milton,  her  then  favourite  author; — that  she  could 
never  expect  poetical  fame,  because  she  would  never 
have  the  means  of  knowing  any  language  but  her 
own;  a  saying  that  often  recurred  to  her  in  after-life, 


24  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

when  the  study  of  languages  became  her  favourite 
pursuit,  after  poetry  had  been  pretty  nearly  relinquish- 
ed. Illustrative  of  this  learned  ambition,  the  only 
ambition  perhaps  that  she  was  ever  susceptible  of, 
she  recals  another  of  her  childish  feelings.  Her 
father's  house  was  opposite  the  Parade,  or  Pantiles, 
as  they  were  called  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  the  resort 
at  that  time  of  the  greatest  and  noblest  of  the  land, 
whom,  as  children  do,  the  little  girls  were  in  the 
habit  of  looking  at,  and  watching  from  the  windows 
most  particularly  those  who  happened  to  have  chil- 
dren of  their  own  age, — indeed,  as  their  father's  ob- 
jection to  his  children  associating  with  others,  did 
not  extend  to  those  above  them,  the  two  little  girls, 
being  pretty  well  dressed,  and  well-mannered  chil- 
dren, often  went  to  play  or  walk  with  the  young 
ladies  whom  they  contrived  to  become  acquainted 
with  as  children  do.  Among  the  great  things  and 
gay  things  thus  constantly  before  their  eyes,  was  the 
handsome  equipage  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland, 
whose  carriage  and  four  brought  every  day  under 
the  windows  two  little  girls,  some  few  years  older 
than  Caroline,  then  about  ten  or  eleven  ;  who  became, 
as  was  so  natural,  the  objects  of  her  curiosity  and 
envy  ;  but  the  envy  took  a  single  direction,  it  never 
occurred  to  her  to  want  the  titles,  or  the  equipage, 
or  the  dress  of  these  little  girls,  but  she  remembers 
now  the  painful  moody  sadness,  with  which  she  sat 
and  looked  at  them,  and  thought  how  many  things 
they  could  learn,  how  many  masters  they  could  have; 
— it  may  seem  an  overdrawn  statement,  but  it  is  dis- 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  25 

tinct  to  her  as  if  of  yesterday  ;  a  bitter  repining  at 
her  lot,  which  no  one  can  remember  but. herself, 
because  no  one  ever  knew  it — had  the  feeling  been 
less  strong,  the  impression  would  not  have  remain- 
ed. From  this  and  other  recollections,  it  has  al- 
ways appeared  to  her  a  great  disadvantage  to 
young  people  of  the  middle  ranks,  to  be  brought 
up  in  a  public  watering-place,  where  they  are  in 
juxtaposition  and  more  near  comparison  with  their 
superiors  in  wealth  and  station,  than  is  likely  to  oc- 
cur elsewhere — the  stirrings  of  rivalrv  and  ambition 
so  excited,  are  not  always  of  so  harmless  a  nature 
in  the  issue,  as  little  Caroline  Fry's  longings  to- 
wards the  house  of  Percy. 

Among  the  means  of  instruction  within  herreach 
indiscriminate  reading  was  the  most  important. 
The  house,  for  the  period,  was  not  very  ill  supplied 
with  school-books,  and  childish  literature — such  as 
it  was  when  Mrs.  Trimmer  was  a  high  authority, 
and  Mrs.  H.  More,  and  Mrs.  Hamilton,  &c,  were 
beginning  to  write.  But  the  great  supply  was  in 
the  two  circulating  libraries,  usually  pertaining  to 
a  watering-place,  to  both  of  which  her  father  was 
a  subscriber ;  and,  whence  she  was  allowed  to 
fetch  what  she  pleased,  without  the  smallest  gui- 
dance or  restraint,  or  so  much  as  advice  upon 
what  she  had  better  read  or  not  read.  As  no  other 
person  read  much  in  the  house,  the  library  cata- 
logues were  little  C's  peculiar  treasure  and  sole 
counsellor ;  and,  since  she  had  nothing  else  to 
choose  them  by,  the  books  had  to  be  chosen  by 
3 


26  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

their  names  only.  And  now  let  not  the  incautious 
mother,  or  the  adventurous  daughter,  take  courage, 
and  assume  that  the  result  of  unrestricted  reading 
may  not  be  so  bad  as  people  think,  and  the  trash 
of  a  circulating  library  not  so  certainly  destruc- 
tive of  moral  and  intellectual  taste.  What  parent- 
al prudence  did  not,  a  beneficent  Providence  did 
— partly  by  the  effect  of  their  example,  and  partly 
by  the  natural  character  of  her  own  mind.  Little 
Caroline  never  saw  any  body  read  pernicious  books 
— she  never  heard  of  pernicious  books — or  heard 
anything  about  what  they  contained.  She  never 
saw  a  novel  in  her  father's  house,  and  never  spoke 
with  any  one  who  had  read  them.  The  exact  mo- 
rality of  her  father's  house  was  such,  that  she 
does  not  remember  to  have  ever  heard  a  free  ex- 
pression, or  an  indelicate  allusion,  or  a  profane  or 
immoral  word  in  jest  or  earnest.  The  very  name 
of  vices  and  follies,  was  strange  to  her  ear — and 
all  the  knowledge  of  the  living  world,  its  passions 
and  pursuits,  was  no  more  than  she  learned  from 
those  parts  of  the  newspapers  which  her  father  de- 
sired to  hear,  and  which  were  generally  read  aloud 
— consisting  chiefly  of  the  parliamentary  debates, 
the  court  circular,  robberies,  accidents,  and  most 
especially  theatrical  reports,  which  in  a  newspaper 
are  innocent  enough.  If  the  common  talk  of  young 
ladies  about  love  and  marriage,  &c,  went  on,  as 
it  must  be  supposed  it  did,  among  her  grown-up  or 
growing  up  sisters :  it  never  transpired  in  the 
family  circle,  or  within  hearing  of  the  little  ones. 


BIRTH  AXD  CHILDHOOD. 


27 


How  much,  in  the  absence  of  all  other  moral  in- 
struction and  restraint,  Caroline  owed  to  this  ig- 
norance and  simplicity  concerning  evil,  will  ap- 
pear as  her  tale  progresses  ;  but  the  first  effect  was 
that  she  had  neither  curiosity  nor  understanding 
for  any  sort  of  reading  that  might  have  been  in- 
jurious. With  all  her  passion  for  poetry,  she  never 
read  any  but  Milton,  Cowper,  Virgil, Pope,  Young, 
Dryden,  and  Thompson — she  does  not  think  even 
she  had  any  taste  for  Shakspeare  before  she  was 
fourteen — and  of  those  authors,  it  was  the  graver, 
not  the  lighter  pieces  she  enjoyed  ; — Milton's  Para- 
dise Lost,  and  Pope's  Homer's  Iliad,  being  cer- 
tainly the  earliest,  and  most  habitual  diet  of  her 
poetical  appetite — as  Young's  Night  Thoughts  and 
Cowper's  Task,  w7ere  a  little  later,  and  she  recol- 
lects w7hat  she  cannot  well  account  for,  and  what 
is  certainly  not  the  case  now,  and  very  unusual 
to  a  child,  she  had  a  decided  preference  for  epic 
poetry,  and  for  blank  verse.  As  far  as  she  re- 
members, her  prose  reading  was  quite  as  good. 
The  heroes  of  Lacedemon,  were  the  idols  of  her 
imagination,  second  only  to  Achilles  and  Agamem- 
non— Plutarch's  Lives  were  her  exhaustless  feast 
— the  pious  heroism  of  Gustavus  Adolphus — the 
adventurous  spirit  of  Charles  of  Sweden — the 
courtly  Francis,  and  the  sagacious  Charles — what- 
ever wTas  great,  or  noble,  or  bold,  or  proud,  was 
the  food  of  her  reflective,  as  well  as  inquisitive, 
faculties — divided  only  with  her  love  of  whatever 
was  philosophical ; — she   believes,  that  before  she 


28  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

was  fourteen,  she  had  read,  and  enjoyed,  and  re- 
flected upon  all  the  standard  classical  works,  in 
translations  of  course,  and  a  great  many  books 
upon  natural  philosophy  and  science,  such  as  were 
then  most  in  circulation.  We  say  reflected  upon, 
because  all  reading  was  to  her,  through  all  her  life, 
only  so  much  material  for  thinking  and  feeling. 
She  never  took  delight  in  mere  facts,  nor  turned 
over  pages  for  mere  information — nor  could  well 
retain  these  when  she  had  got  them  ;  whence  it 
probably  resulted,  that  with  all  her  knowledge,  she 
never  was  an  accurate  scholar,  her  memory  had 
no  verbal  stores,  she  had  nobody's  thoughts  in  her 
head  but  her  own,  could  never  quote  from  any 
other  writer,  or  bring  what  she  had  read' to  bear 
upon  her  arguments.  It  is  commonly  said  in  youth 
that  it  is  of  no  use  to  read  more  than  you  can  re- 
member. This  is  not  true.  The  use  of  reading 
is  to  form  the  mind,  to  enlighten  the  understand- 
ing, to  direct  the  opinions,  and  provide  the  mate- 
rials for  thinking  and  for  judging.  It  is  the  mental 
aliment,  which  it  is  no  more  indispensable  to  re- 
member in  detail,  than  the  things  we  eat  and 
drink,  and  grow  up  upon  bodily.  No  doubt,  the 
addition  of  a  strong,  verbal,  and  eventual  memory, 
with  the  higher  intellectual  powers,  is  a  very  great 
advantage  in  writing  and  conversation,  of  which 
Caroline  has  always  felt  the  want. 

In  nothing  has  C.'s  ultimate  character  been  so 
true  to  the  first  impulses  of  nature,  as  in  her  plea- 
sures.    There  is  every  appearance  that  the  first- 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


29 


born  will  be  the  survivor.  Little  C.  never  liked  the 
dull,  the  artificial  play-thing,  nor  the  game  of  play, 
unless  it  were  one  of  skill  and  exercise,  such  as 
throwing  the  ball,  and  skipping  the  rope,  &c.  Her 
earliest  remembered  pleasure,  was  the  first-blown 
flower  of  the  spring,  or  the  new-born  lamb  in  her 
father's  meadow ;  she  knows  distinctly, — and  ne- 
ver returns  to  her  native  place  without  a  vivid  re- 
currence of  the  impression, — where  she  used  to  go 
with  her  nurse,  to  see  if  the  wild  snow-drop  was 
budding,  to  gather  the  first  primroses,  to  hunt  the 
sweet  violets  from  among  the  nettles  where  they 
were  yearly  to  be  found.  The  long  romantic  walk, 
the  nutting,  and  the  blackberrying,  were  the  great 
occurrences;  the  hay-field,  the  barn-floor,  the  sheep- 
cote,  the  many  hours  of  the  day  she  spent  with  her 
father  upon  the  farm,  listening  to  the  detail  of  the 
bailiff,  watching  the  plough,  and  the  various  ope- 
rations of  the  field,  are  recollections  of  such  ex- 
quisite pleasure,  as  never  fail  to  return  upon  her 
memory  and  her  feelings,  whenever  she  sees  any- 
thing of  farming  operations;  she  doubts  if  she  ever 
sees  a  cart,  or  so  much  as  hears  a  wagoner's  whip, 
without  the  stirring  of  some  vague  reminiscences 
of  bygone  pleasure — pleasure  as  regards  the  farm, 
w7hich  never  happened,  in  all  the  varieties  of  her 
subsequent  life,  to  be  renewed ;  yet  she  longs  for 
it,  even  now  that  the  garden  feeds  the  still  prevail- 
ing passion,  but  never  bears  a  snow-drop  so  white, 
nor  a  violet  so  sweet,  nor  a  primrose  so  smooth, 
and  round,  and  pure,  as  those  that  grew  for  her 
3* 


30  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

without  her  care.  If  any  one  who  loves  her  should 
like  a  proof  of  this,  perhaps  they  will  find  them 
growing  still  in  the  same  place,  upon  the  farm  of 
Hangershall,  hard  by  the  clear  rivulet  that  divides 
Kent  from  Sussex,  under  shelter  of  the  high  rocks. 
This,  amid  the  beautiful  scenery  of  Tunbridge 
Wells,  it  will  be  judged,  was  no  bad  training  for  a 
poet;  and  whatever  she  may,  or  may  not  owe  to 
it,  in  the  culture  of  the  imagination,  she  no  doubt 
owes  to  it  her  escape  from  one  of  the  dire  penalties 
of  authorship  and  reading — the  miseries  of  dys- 
pepsia, and  hypochondriasis.  Born  of  very  hand- 
some and  healthful  parents,  and  leading  through  all 
her  first  years  the  most  healthful  life  possible,  her 
constitution  outbore  the  long  intermediate  pressure ; 
and  she  is,  when  this  is  written,  a  remarkable  in- 
stance of  bodily  activity  and  animal  spirits,  not 
worn  and  injured  by  mental  toil  and  suffering — 
long  and  weary  as  they  were. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  example  and  igno- 
rance of  evil  were  the  principal  moral  restraints. 
Intellect  itself,  if  not  perverted,  is  so;  and  the  ha- 
bit of  reflection  is  so.  But  all  that  comes  of  these 
is  the  morality  of  this  world — the  morality  of  self- 
interest  and  self-respect. 

Caroline  never  learned  to  fear  sin,  as  sin, — least 
of  all  as  measured  against  the  law  of  God.  Her 
first  notions  of  right  and  wrong  were  such  as  she 
gathered  from  her  reading;  a  purely  heathen  code, 
in  which  heroism  and  high-mindedness  stood  as  the 
first  of  virtues,  weakness  and  pusillanimity  as  the 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  3  J 

worst  of  vices.  To  be  faultless,  to  be  perfect,  was 
her  early  and  long-continued  desire  and  determi- 
nation, and  much  of  the  suffering  of  the  first  part  of 
her  life,  arose  from  her  conscious  ill-success  in  the 
government  of  herself.  No  one  ever  told  her 
where  she  might  have  help,  or  why  she  could  not 
be  perfect.  The  only  thing,  of  which  she  never 
thought,  for  which  she  never  asked,  never  felt, 
never  cared,  was  religion.  True,  it  was  never 
brought  under  her  observation  ;  but  that  was  true 
of  many  other  things  about  which  her  curiosity 
and  consideration  were  insatiable.  The  religion  of 
her  father's  house  will  seem  almost  a  caricature  in 
these  bestirring  days;  but  it  was  common  enough 
in  the  high  church  then.  Caroline  does  not  remem- 
ber an  individual  in  the  family  ever  omitting  to  go 
to  church  twice  on  the  Sunday,  except  from  illness ; 
it  would  have  been  thought  absolutely  wicked ; 
neither  does  she  remember  any  instance  of  the 
Sabbath  being  profaned  by  week-day  occupations 
and  pleasures;  certainly  she  never  heard  in  jest 
or  earnest  the  Holy  Name  profaned,  or  His  word 
and  power  disputed,  or  irreverently  treated.  But 
except  on  Sunday,  the  Bible  never  left  its  shelf,  and 
religion  was  not  any  body's  business  in  the  week. 
During  the  Sunday,  religious  books,  if  they  may 
be  so  called,  came  forth  out  of  their  hiding-places, 
and  all  others  disappeared.  The  children  learned 
and  repeated  the  collects,  and  the  church  cate- 
chism, the  only  lesson  which  to  Caroline  appeared 
a  hardship,  and  with  good  reason,  for  no  one  ever 


32  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

told  her  what  it  meant,  and  how  she  was  interested 
in  it.  The  catechism  is  a  most  beautiful  compen- 
dium of  the  Christian  faith,  such  as  the  most  ad- 
vanced Christian  studies  with  satisfaction,  and 
finds  no  better  mode  of  expressing  his  own  belief. 
But  I  have  always  been  of  opinion  that  it  is  unfit 
for  children,  and  not  meant  for  children ;  it  is,  ge- 
nerally speaking,  not  true  of  children  into  whose 
mouth  it  is  put,  as  a  confession  of  faith,  of  which 
they  understand  and  believe  not  a  syllable.  On 
my  own  judgment  I  would  never  teach  it  to  any, 
till  they  came  of  age  to  answer  for  themselves; 
and  I  would  remark  on  this,  that  it  is  our  church's 
direction  to  the  baptismal  sponsors,  that  the  child 
be  taught  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Belief,  and  the 
Ten  Commandments.  Is  not  this  because  it  is  all 
of  the  catechism  that  was  considered  proper  for 
childhood  ?  This  I  think,  of  the  best  instructed 
child;  to  one  not  instructed,  it  was  a  mass  of  un- 
meaning words  that  she  learned  with  difficulty  and 
disgust,  and  cared  as  little  as  she  knew,  what  was 
meant  by  it.  No  nurse  nor  mother  ever  talked  to 
her  of  Jesus'  love,  nor  told  her  stories  of  his  suffer- 
ings; nor  ever  warned  her  of  God's  displeasure. 
Her  infant  mind  was  never  stored  with  sacred 
words — nor  her  memory  exercised  with  holy  writ. 
When  she  listens  now  to  the  exercises  of  the  In- 
fant or  the  Sunday-school,  deeply  can  she  estimate, 
while  they  cannot,  the  value  of  the  instructions 
thus  received,  in  preparation  for  the  day  of  grace. 
Her  reading  of  the  Scripture  was  confined  to  a 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  33 

chapter  read  every  Sunday  evening  by  each  of 
the  four  younger  children  to  their  parents  and  the 
family  assembled  ;  but  as  they  always  chose  what 
they  would  read,  it  seldom  varied  beyond  the  sto- 
ries of  the  Old  Testament.  David  and  Goliah, 
Joseph  and  his  brethren,  Daniel  in  the  lion's  den, 
&c.  &c. — never  applied,  never  remarked  upon  by 
any  one;  this  was  followed  by  one  of  Blair's,  or 
other  similar  lectures,  read  aloud  by  some  one  of 
the  elders,  and  then  religion  was  dismissed  till  the 
next  Sabbath.  The  only  unseen  world  that  occu- 
pied little  Caroline's  attention  was  that  of  the  clas- 
sic poets.  In  this  she  was  interested  enough,  and 
had  all  names  and  attributes  of  heathen  deities  to 
adorn  her  childish  verse,  and  delighted  in  nothing 
more  than  a  visit  to  Olympus  or  to  Hades,  with 
her  favourite  poets.  It  was  a  little  after  her  child- 
hood, perhaps  at  about  twelve  or  fourteen  years  of 
age,  when  her  brother,  returning  from  Oxford, 
tried  to  introduce  rather  more  serious  reading; 
Bishop  Porteus'  Lectures,  then  just  delivered,  and 
Mrs.  H.  More's  Works,  then  become  fashionable ; 
but  the  former  was  declared  by  her  parents  to  be 
methodistical,  and  for  the  latter,  Caroline  at  least 
had  an  avowed  distaste,  except  the  Sacred  Dra- 
mas, which  she  got  by  heart.  It  is  a  remarkable 
circumstance,  strongly  imprinted  on  her  memory, 
that  the  first  desire  she  conceived  for  the  pleasures 
of  fashionable  life,  was  in  reading  Mrs.  H.  More's 
strictures  against  them.     To  their  alleged  sin  and 


34 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


danger,  she  was  indifferent ;  to  their  zest  she  was 
then  first  awakened. 

Living  so  much  excluded  from  society,  at  a  pe- 
riod when  evangelical  religion  was  little  stirring  in 
the  church,  (to  have  entered  a  dissenting  chapel 
would  have  been  esteemed  by  her  father  a  mortal 
sin,)  it  is  not  surprising  that  vital  religion  should 
never  have  come  under  Caroline's  observation;  still 
it  seems  remarkable,  that  to  a  mind  so  reflective  and 
inquiring,  the  things  of  another  world  should  not 
have  become  a  subject  at  least  of  curiosity.  It  was 
during  this  period,  as  she  thinks,  that  Young's 
Night  Thoughts  became  her  supreme  delight.  Hav- 
ing possessed  herself  of  an  old  copy,  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  rising  very  early,  and  retiring  into  a 
little  copse-wood  not  far  from  the  house,  where, 
seated  upon  a  stile,  the  nightingales  singing  over 
her  head,  and  the  beautiful  grey  snake  slumbering 
amid  the  wild  flowers  at  her  feet,  she  passed  deli- 
cious hours  in  committing  to  memory  that  roman- 
tic and  deep-feeling  poetry — than  which  few  things 
could  be  more  unwholesome  for  such  a  mind  as 
hers,  predisposed  to  exaggeration  in  the  good  and 
ill  of  all  things,  and  prepared  to  take  the  poetry  of 
life,  of  time  and  of  eternity,  in  the  stead  of  its  reali- 
ties. To  the  continual  study  of  it  at  that  important 
age,  she  has  been  used  to  attribute  mnch  influence 
on  her  early  character  ;  if  it  did  not  create,  it  cer- 
tainly encouraged  a  contempt  for  the  usages  of  the 
world,  and  a  tone  of  independent  mental  existence, 
a  lowered  opinion  of  human  nature,  and  quickened 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  35 

sensibility  to  its  follies,  viewed  as  follies,  not  as  sins; 
weighed  by  reason  and  philosophy,  not  by  the  Word 
of  God.  A  melancholy  presage  of  that  life  of  which 
she  knew  nothing,  its  injuries,  its  unkindness,  and  its 
injustice,  amounting  to  a  desire  to  escape  from  it 
by  a  death,  of  which  she  knew  far  less,  is  an  im- 
pression well  remembered  in  her  childhood,  pro- 
duced by  the  influence  of  poetry  in  general,  but  of 
this  poem  most  particularly,  upon  the  morbid  sen- 
sibilities of  her  nature.  Fresh  with  the  breezes  of 
the  morning,  little  Caroline  was  used  to  return  to 
the  family  breakfast-table,  moody  and  whimsical 
and  abstracted,  but  full  of  the  delights  of  nature  and 
of  poetry,  in  which  nobody  crossed  her  humour, 
or  questioned  the  disposal  of  her  time ;  this,  with 
the  exception  of  about  four  hours  a  day,  called 
school-hours,  was  left  to  her  entire  disposal,  at  an 
age  when  most  children  do  every  thing  by  rule  and 
dictation.  From  what  has  been  stated,  it  cannot 
be  said  that  she  was  a  good-tempered  child ;  vio- 
lent and  wilful  she  thinks  she  must  have  been,  or 
would  have  been,  had  she  been  contradicted  and 
restrained,  but  this  she  rarely  was  by  anybody,  and 
when  left  to  herself  she  wfas  to  the  greatest  degree 
a  good-natured  child,  and  as  such,  a  favourite  with 
her  elder  sisters.  If  anybody  wanted  a  thing,  Car- 
ry would  fetch  it, — if  any  little  service  wras  to  be 
done,  Carry  would  do  it — if  any  secret  to  be  trans- 
acted, Carry  could  be  trusted — anybody  might  use 
Carry's  books  or  papers,  or  thread  or  pencils,  she 
would  never  be  angry ;  there  was  nothing  that  she 


36  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

would  not  do  to  assist  or  oblige  any  one,  for  she 
was  as  quick  with  her  fingers  as  with  her  brain: 
"  Let  Carry  try,"  is  a  sentence  well  remembered, 
when  any  little  difficulty  occurred  among  the  sis- 
ters. She  cannot  well  remember,  that  any  indivi- 
dual of  her  large  family,  living  as  they  did  invariably 
together,  ever  treated  her  unkindly,  or  otherwise 
than  with  the  greatest  indulgence  and  affection.  A 
happier  childhood,  perhaps,  has  seldom  been  past. 
Out  of  hearing,  almost,  of  the  world's  cares,  except 
the  divisions  of  Whig  and  Tory,  Opposition  and 
Ministerial,  Pitt  and  Fox,  about  which  her  father 
troubled  himself  by  his  fireside,  and  talked  among 
his  children,  with  as  much  interest  as  if  he  had 
been  a  placeman,  with  all  the  stirring  interests  of 
the  long  war,  the  taxes,  the  invasion,  &c.  <fec. — 
provided  abundantly  for  anything  she  ever  heard 
or  saw,  or  thought  of,  with  the  comforts  of  life,  free 
in  the  exercise  of  her  tastes  and  powers,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  all  temptation  to  misuse  them — leading  in 
the  simplicity  of  country  hours  and  habits,  the 
most  healthful  existence  possible — occupied  in  all 
natural  pleasures  and  rational  pursuits,  there  seems 
not  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  upon  the  first  division  of 
her  history,  but  that  which  she  probably  brought 
with  her  into  the  world,  and  must  take  with  her 
out  of  it — the  morbid  sensibilities  of  her  own  na- 
ture— the  capacity  to  suffer  without  a  proportion- 
ate cause — the  heart's  indwelling  and  inburied 
torment. 

She  closes  at  fourteen  the  first  division  of  these 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  37 

memoranda,  because  she  was  about  that  age  when 
her  father  died;  the  first  great  change  in  her 
changeful  life;  for  though  many  years  elapsed  be- 
fore there  was  any  alteration  in  the  external  mode 
of  life,  it  was  the  source  and  cause  of  much  with- 
in herself,  and  ultimately  of  all  relating  to  her.  It 
must  not  be  omitted,  that  before  this  period,  little 
Caroline  had  actually  attained  the  inborn  desire  of 
her  heart, — to  be  an  author.  The  fond  father, 
whose  pride  and  pleasure  in  her  talents  were  very 
great,  had  pleased  himself  with  printing  and  pub- 
lishing, at  the  Tunbridge  Wells  Library,  a  few  hun- 
dred copies  of  a  History  of  England  in  verse,  which 
little  Caroline  had  composed  for  the  use  of  her  own 
school-room.  They  sold  immediately,  and  were 
much  thought  of  as  the  production  of  so  young  a 
person;  the  printers,  and  no  doubt  the  author, 
much  desired  a  second  edition,  but  the  prudent  pa- 
rent, who  perhaps  never  seriously  looked  forward 
to  his  little  girl's  literary  character,  was  dissuaded 
from  permitting  it,  as  likely  to  spoil  her  with  pub- 
lic approbation.  If  he  anticipated,  as  she  surely 
believes  he  did  not,  that  his  children  would  depend 
on  their  own  talents  for  the  means  of  existence, 
this  was  a  great  mistake.  If  lie  thought  to  leave 
them  in  the  comfortable  obscurity  of  domestic  life, 
perhaps  it  was  judicious.  At  all  events  it  was  the 
commencement  of  the  prolonged  course  of  op- 
position which  circumstances  seemed  to  make  to 
the  dictates  of  nature,  by  which  her  early  pro- 
pensities and  powers  were  baffled  and  suppressed  ; 
4 


38  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

— in  mere  human  language,  we  should  say,  by 
which  her  destiny  was  crossed.  Is  it  not  rather 
good  to  say,  by  which  a  merciful  God  kept  in  re- 
serve for  his  own  use,  powers  which  might  else 
have  been  expended  in  opposition  to  his  truth. 
Had  Caroline  Fry  been  an  author  earlier,  what 
would  she  have  written  ?  Blessed  be  God,  and  to 
Him  alone  the  praise,  that  she  never  has  written 
anything  of  which  the  memory  is  painful  to  her 
best  and  holiest  moments. 

If  any  manuscript  record  of  this  period  remain, 
it  must  be  with  Caroline's  own  family  ;  she  knew 
no  one  else.  Most  likely  there  are  not  any  in  ex- 
istence— she  believes  they  were  not  worth  pre- 
serving, even  as  the  productions  of  a  child. 

In  reading  the  memoirs  of  other  female  writers, 
it  has  often  come  into  her  mind  to  think  what  the 
result  would  have  been  to  her,  had  her  powers 
been  stimulated,  as  most  others  have  been,  by  early 
opportunities  and  associations.  .  .  Greater  she 
would  perhaps  have  been,  but  far  less  happy,  there 
is  little  doubt. 


EARLY  YOUTH.  39 


CHAPTER  II. 


EARLY  YOUTH. 


Caroline  was  about  fifteen  when  her  father  died. 
Everything  for  a  time  went  on  the  same — the  same 
house,  the  same  habits,  the  same  establishment,  but 
all  was  materially  changed  to  Caroline.  She 
passed  from  a  child  to  a  woman.  The  only  con- 
trol or  influence  she  had  ever  known  was  with- 
drawn ;  nobody  any  more  attempted  to  guide  or 
to  control  her;  the  form  of  education  was  relin- 
quished :  her  young  sister  and  companion  being 
sent  from  home,  Caroline  became  the  companion 
of  the  older  ones;  and  was  solely  committed  to 
her  own  discretion  and  responsibility,  treated  in 
every  respect  as  a  grown-up  girl.  For  the  first 
year  or  two,  as  might  be  expected,  the  little  poet 
became  more  moody  and  whimsical  than  ever. 
She  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  day  alone  in  her 
chamber  scribbling  at  an  old  escrutoire  of  which 
she  had  got  possession,  or  sitting  for  hours  together 
at  a  high  window-place  with  her  feet  upon  a  table, 
looking  at  the  moon,  and  making  verses  ;  but  her 


40 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


compositions  at  this  time  were  shown  to  nobody; 
her  father  who  liked  them  was  no  more,  and  none 
else  cared  to  encourage  her  propensity.  She  wrote 
none  the  less,  but  kept  them  to  herself.  She  chose 
to  walk  out  alone  at  dusk,  or  sit  on  the  common  with 
her  book.  The  most  dangerous  susceptibilities  of  her 
nature,  its  most  romantic  and  exaggerated  feeling 
as  well  as  its  selfish  and  self-indulgent  propensities, 
were  in  danger  of  being  thus  fostered  and  encour- 
aged  to  an  unlimited  degree  ;  but  nature  came  in 
to  its  own  rescue — the  growing  feeling  of  woman- 
hood, and  the  whimsies  of  the  child,  spoiled  the 
poet,  and  went  nigh  to  defeat  the  designs  of  nature 
and  change  the  destiny  entirely.  May  we  not 
rather  say,  Almighty  power  and  mercy  interposed, 
to  effect  its  own  distant  ends.  Is  it  not  as  if  God 
had  said,  "  Go  your  way  into  the  world,  try  its 
pleasures,  exhaust  its  interests,  enjoy  its  vanities 
and  smiles,  spend  there  your  youth  and  health, 
and  spirits,  but  this  talent  is  mine,  it  must  not  be 
with  you.  I  take  it  and  keep  it,  that  when  here- 
after I  require  it,  it  may  be  found  unused  and  un- 
degraded  by  a  baser  service  ?"  Blessed  be  his 
name,  it  was  so.  He  took  from  her  senseless  and 
nnguided  hand  the  dangerous  w7eapon  with  which 
she  might  have  injured  and  wounded  many,  and 
perhaps  have  slain  herself,  and  kept  it  bright  and 
unspotted  from  the  world,  till  the  day  when  he 
gave  it  back  to  be  used  under  the  guidance  of  his 
Spirit  and  his  word.  She  left  it,  and  neglected  it, 
and  forgot  it ;  from  about  sixteen  years  of  age  or 


EARLY  YOUTH. 


41 


a  little  sooner,  she  left  her  books  and  her  poetry, 
neglected  her  talents  and  forgot  the  inborn  desire 
of  her  heart,  to  occupy  herself  with  the  common- 
est interests  of  common  life.  It  is  a  curious  chasm 
and  a  curious  fact,  that  this  pleasure,  this  pride, 
this  ambition  and  determination  of  her  childhood, 
was  as  much  gone  as  if  it  never  had  existed,  and 
returned  only  by  compulsion  of  her  fortunes,  to  the 
involuntary  resumption  and  exercise  of  her  mental 
powers.  While  she  looks  back  with  shame  and 
wonder  on  those  vain  and  wasted  years,  let  her 
ever  give  glory  to  the  Divine  purpose  therein,  for 
without  them,  she  had  never  known  the  secrets  of 
the  kingdom  of  the  prince  of  this  world,  whose 
machinations  it  has  since  been  her  business  to  ex- 
pose and  combat.  It  was  in  keeping  with  the 
whole  current  of  circumstances,  by  which  she  was 
fitted  for  God's  purposes,  and  unfitted  for  her  own, 
rendered  more  capable  of  being  useful  to  the 
world  in  her  writings,  and  more  incapable  of  suc- 
ceeding in  it  to  her  own  temporal  advantage  and 
distinction. 

The  death  of  the  father  had  in  a  measure  broken 
up  the  extreme  seclusion  of  the  family.  The  young 
ladies  made  a  few  more  acquaintances  :  one  was  to 
be  married  ;  other  young  men  w7ere  introduced, 
and  came  to  the  house,  or  joined  in  their  walks; 
the  merry,  chattering,  bright-eyed  child  was  very 
distinguishable  at  the  bottom  of  the  long  family 
supper-table.  The  kind  elder  sisters,  unlike  it 
must  be  confessed  to  many  sisters  of  large  families 
4# 


42  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

I  have  seen,  had  no  disposition  to  extinguish  her, 
and  she  who  by  birthright  had  been  the  admitted 
genius,  was  now  to  be  by  consent,  its  wit,   its  life, 
its    plaything,  its  spoiled   child  from   first   to  last. 
Caroline's  natural  mirth  and  gaiety, and  disposition 
to  raillery,  if  not  to  satire,  was  now  given  way  to, 
and  excited  to  the  utmost  possible  extent,  for  the 
amusement  of  her  mother  and  sisters,  or  anybody 
that  happened  to  come  in  the  way  ;   in    the   retro- 
spect it  seems  to  her  that  she  was  wild  with  enjoy- 
ment andexcess  of  animal  spirits,  and  happy  beyond 
all  expression  in  the  love  of  those  around  her,  and 
the  every-day  amusements  of  domestic  country  life. 
The  walks,  the  woods,  the  garden,  they  had  not  lost 
their  zest,  whatever  became  of  the  books  and  of  the 
poetry.    Her  solitary  rambles  had  become  inconve- 
nient; subjecting  her,  asshebegan  to  look  more  a  wo- 
man, to  some  annoyance  in  a  public  watering-place. 
They  were    given   up,   as   were   all    her    solitary 
amusements  ;  and  with  that  strong,  but  capricious 
attachment  which  characterized  her   in   after  life, 
she  attached  her  self  to   two  of  her  sisters  in  par- 
ticular, the  next  older   than   herself,  and   became 
their  constant  companion. 

Of  the  period  between  fourteen  and  seventeen, 
Caroline  remembers  nothing  but  happiness,  free- 
dom, mirth,  hilarity,  good  humour  with  every  one, 
and  delight  in  every  thing.  She  loved  her  sisters, 
she  fell  in  with  their  occupations  and  pursuits, 
walking,  drawing,  gardening,  work,  the  latter  most 
particularly  filled  up  her  busy  days  ;  and  she  thinks 


EARLY  YOUTH.  43 

she  read  very  little.  In  the  capacity  of  woman, 
the  care  of  her  own  wardrobe  fell  into  her  own 
hands;  and  as  was  the  custom  of  the  family,  she 
had  to  make  all  her  own  clothes,  even  her  own 
dresses,  for  no  such  thing  as  a  dressmaker  or  a 
sempstress  had  ever  been  heard  of  in  the  house. 
The  vivacious  eagerness  that  made  Caroline  out- 
strip others  in  their  learning,  bore  equally  upon 
every  thing,  and  whatever  was  to  be  done,  she 
must  do  most  and  best ;  even  to  the  platting  of  a 
straw  bonnet, — she  must  do  two  in  the  year  when 
others  were  content  with  one  ;  and  she  liked  all, 
she  liked  every  thing,  but  most  she  liked  the  long, 
fatiguing  days,  when  the  sisters  used  to  repair  to 
some  distant  corn-fields  to  gather  straw  for  their 
platting,  furnished  with  a  dinner  of  cold  meat,  and 
seated  all  day  on  the  sod  or  barn-floor ;  and  if  she 
no  longer  made  poetry,  she  felt  it  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  her  soul.  She  had  learned  to  like  the 
ball-room,  the  half-romping  excitement  of  the  En- 
glish country  dance,  which  was  all  she  knew  of 
dancing,  for  the  same  reason  and  no  other,  that 
she  liked  playing  at  ball  or  skipping  a  rope,  and 
talking  and  laughing,  it  wras  yet  no  more  to  her, 
but  nothing  gave  half  the  delight  in  these  days, 
which  the  corn-fields  at  harvest  time  afforded,  a 
delight  as  vivid  in  her  memory  as  if  she  had  felt 
it  yesterday.  She  may  not  perfectly  recal,  but  she 
thinks  this  period  was  free  from  those  returns  of 
violent  affection  and  depression,  of  wmich  she  has 
previously  said  so  much.    No  one  crossed  her  plea- 


44  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

sure,  no  one  contradicted  or  found  fault  with  her, 
no  one  was  unkind  or  unjust  to  her;  perhaps  her 
feelings  as  well  as  her  intellect,  had  a  slumbering 
time,  to  gather  strength,  for  harm  as  well  as  good, 
for  good  as  well  as  harm.*  When  Caroline  was 
nearly  seventeen,  this  happy  family  for  the  first 
time  prepared  to  separate.  With  the  view  of  pro- 
viding for  themselves,  if  it  should  become  necessa- 
ry, it  was  advised  that  those  who  were  young 
enough  should  go  to  a  first-rate  London  school. 
The  year  and  quarter  that  Caroline  remained  at 

,  left  no  impression  but  what  is  painful.    There 

were  good  masters,  and  Caroline  was  well  taught 
in  music,  drawing,  &c,  but  time  ends  all  things; 
the  anxiously-counted  days  and  weeks  escaped, 
and  Caroline  returned  to  her  happy  home,  some- 
where about  eighteen  years  of  age,  with  some  in- 
creased knowledge  of  the  world,  and  a  stirring 
desire  to  be  better  acquainted  with  it. 

We  have  said,  that  she  returned  to  her  own 
happy  home,  but  much  was  changed,  nothing  so 
changed  as  she  was;  things  went  on  as  usual,  yet 
all  seemed  changed  and  changing,  herself  the  most 
of  all.  Perhaps  the  young  blood  no  longer  flowed 
so  healthfully  in  the  veins.  She  remembers  no 
more  exuberance  of  spirits — no  more  gaiety  of 
heart.     She  remembers  no  more  harvest-fields,  or 


*  If  this  is  a  fact — it  might  appear  physiologically  to  con- 
nect those  morbid  sensibilities  with  the  actual  exercise  of  the 
mental  powers — suspended  by  their  disuse. 


EARLY  YOUTH.  45 

gardens,  or  country  rambles.  She  had  seen  Lon- 
don, she  had  heard  of  London  life.  She  had  mix- 
ed with  girls  of  other  habits,  and  of  other  tastes; 
the  yearnings  of  vanity  and  ambition  were  in  her 
heart;  she  wanted  to  see  life,  to  be — to  do — though 
she  knew  not  what.  She  remembers  walking  after 
dark,  up  and  down  a  paved  court  in  front  of  her 
mother's  house,  whence  she  could  see  the  carri- 
ages set  down  at  the  door  of  the  assembly-room  ; 
and  wishing  she  might  partake  of  the  gaiety,  the 
dress,  the  splendid  equipage,  and  the  expected  plea- 
sure. She  remembers  walking  on  the  high  Lon- 
don-road,  and  as  the  travelling  carriages  went  by, 
wishing  she  too  might  go — somewhere,  anywhere. 
The  house,  the  country,  had  gone  after  the  poetry 
and  the  books — all  had  lost  their  charm.  Altered, 
indeed,  is  now  to  be  our  story — the  artless,  the 
healthful,  the  peaceful  youth  was  ended.  She  was 
to  have  her  way — and  more  than  twenty  years 
were  to  be  given  her  to  try  that  world  she  longed 
for,  before  she  found  again  a  happy  peaceful  home. 
Most  wonderful  art  thou,  O  God,  in  all  thy  ways; 
most  good,  most  wise,  most  merciful ! 


4f5  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  III. 


EARLY    WOMANHOOD. 


Caroline  was  to  have  her  way.  "  Ephraim  is 
wedded  to  idols,  let  him  alone."  It  is  a  sad,  sad 
chapter  we  have  now  to  write.  Before  we  enter 
upon  it,  something  should  be  said  of  the  state  of 
her  mind,  in  respect  to  religion,  during  the  last- 
named  period  of  her  life.  From  the  time  of  her 
father's  death,  during  her  school-days,  and  the 
short  time  she  remained  at  home  afterwards,  Caro- 
line used  to  go  frequently,  for  the  sake  of  going 
somewhere,  and  doing  something,  and  at  the  insti- 
gation of  an  elder  sister,  already  a  decided  child 
of  God,  to  various  places  to  hear  the  gospel  preach- 
ed, far  more  interesting  of  course  to  her  intellect 
and  feeling,  than  the  ten  minutes'  essay  to  which 
she  had  been  accustomed.  She  does  not  very  well 
remember  whom  she  heard,  except  an  impression 
that  Mr.  Foster,  of  Long  Acre,  gave  her  the  most 
satisfaction,  of  the  few  she  heard  in  London,  when 
taken  out  on  a  Sunday  by  her  sister  from  school. 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD.  47 

At  Tunbridge  Wells,  it  was  in  Lady  Huntingdon's 
chapel  she  heard  the  gospel.  She  liked  to  hear  a 
good  sermon  better  than  a  bad  one;  and  the  better 
it  was,  the  better  she  liked  it;  for  the  same  reason 
that  she  liked  a  good  poem  better  than  a  bad  one; 
and  she  acquired  from  them  a  full  and  correct 
knowledge  of  the  evangelical  doctrines  of  the  gos- 
pel, and  the  variations  under  which  they  were  ex- 
hibited by  different  preachers  ;  she  may  be  said 
thenceforward  to  have  understood  the  gospel  as 
far  as  it  could  be  learned  of  man,  without  the  help 
of  the  Spirit  or  the  Word.  She  never  read — she 
cannot  remember  whether  she  ever  prayed,  or 
whether  she  ever  felt  or  cared  about  religion.  It 
is  scarcely  to  be  supposed  there  was  not  some  per- 
sonal interest  excited  at  the  time  in  the  divine 
truths  set  before  her,  but  she  cannot  recal  it;  they 
took  no  effect  at  the  time,  and  were  soon  after- 
wards revolting  to  her. 

Caroline  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  when  the 
yearning  desire  of  her  heart  to  mix  with  the  world, 
and  taste  the  pleasures  of  a  London  life  was  gratified 
by  a  proposal  from  a  near  relation  then  practising  as 
a  solicitor  in  London,  and  residing  with  his  wife  and 
family  in  Bloomsbury,  that  she  should  live  with  them. 
Seldom  has  the  young  heart's  satisfaction  been  more 
full;  not  one  regret  for  the  home  she  was  leaving,  or 
the  sisters  whom  alone  she  loved  in  all  the  world, 
was  mixed  with  her  delight.  To  be  the  compan- 
ion of  .  .  .  and  assist  her  household  and  maternal 
cares,  was  the  ostensible  object  of  her  removal  to 


48 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


Bloomsbury ;  the  real  intention  could  be  no  other 
than  her  advantage, — to  introduce  her  to  society, 
and  afford  her  an  opportunity  of  making  such  a 
settlement  as  he  anticipated.  The  society  was  of 
that  class  in  which  there  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
degree  of  enjoyment ;  the  refinements  of  polite  life, 
without  the  restraints  of  rank;  gaiety  without  dis- 
sipation ;  enough  to  keep  up  the  taste  for  amuse- 
ment, but  not  enough  to  sate  it.  The  mode  of 
living  was  the  same:  a  small  genteel  establish- 
ment, everything  elegant,  but  nothing  luxurious  or 
extravagant;  no  sense  of  or  appearance  of  wealth; 
economy  without  stint — hospitality  without  dis- 
play. This  was  what  Caroline  saw  and  shared — 
her  simplicity  and  ignorance  veiled  the  rest.  She 
was  grateful  and  contented.  She  loved  .  .  .  which 
was  natural;  most  people  loved  him  and  he  was 
always  kind;  she  admired  him,  so  did  the  society 
in  which  he  lived  ;  his  manners  were  polished,  and 
his  wit  was  brilliant.  It  would  seem  as  if  her 
mental  powers  had  actually  been  extinct  during 
these  years,  in  which  her  intellect  was  prostrated 
to  folly,  ignorance,  and  misjudgment;  was  con- 
tented with  its  humiliation,  and  had  no  misgiving 
of  the  degradation  In  her  father's  house  she  had 
never  heard  a  profane  or  licentious  expression ; 
nothing  came  amiss  here  to  point  a  jest,  provided 
it  was  not  coarse  or  low.  Caroline  does  not  re- 
member to  have  been  shocked.  In  her  father's 
house,  nobody  ever  thought  of  absenting  them- 
selves from  Church,  or  profaning  the  Sabbath-day; 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD.  49 

here,  though  the  latter  was  no  otherwise  done  than 
by  driving  in  the  Park  and  paying  visits,  the  for- 
mer seemed  scarcely  to  come  into  anybody's  head; 
no  mention  was  ever  made  of  going  to  church;  a 
few  times  a  year  it  might  happen,  the  master  of 
the  house  being  absent,  that  Caroline  and  her 
friend,  wanting  something  to  do,  took  into  their 
heads  the  extraordinary  fancy  of  going  to  some 
church  on  the  Sunday  morning,  for  no  purpose 
and  intent  certainly,  but  to  pass  the  time.  It  was 
in  one  such  freak,  Caroline  heard  for  the  only 
time,  that  eminent  man  of  God,  Mr.  Cecil,  then, 
probably,  in  his  prime,  at  St.  John's;  and  absolute 
offence  and  disgust  are  all  her  remembrances  of 
it.  Whether  this  neglect  was  then  fashionable  or 
not,  Caroline  does  not  know,  but  it  wTas  so  to  a 
much  greater  extent  than  it  is  now.  That  the 
habits  and  influence  of  a  whole  life  should  have 
left  on  Caroline's  mind  no  desire  for  external  ob- 
servances, not  the  least  compunction  in  the  total 
neglect  of  them,  does  seem  extraordinary,  and  is 
an  impressive  lesson.  She  had  been  taken  to 
church  in  her  childhood,  because  it  was  the  cus- 
tom, and  because  it  was  right;  to  her,  at  least,  no 
other  motive  had  been  supplied  ;  she  ceased  to  go, 
without  a  thought  about  the  matter,  as  soon  as  she 
found  herself  where  it  was  not  the  custom.  It  was 
no  doubt  at  this  time,  although  she  cannot  recal 
anything  about  it,  that  Caroline  ceased  to  perform 
the  ceremony  of  prayer  in  her  chamber  night  and 
morning,  (she  has  no  reason  to  believe  that  she 
5 


50  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

had  ever  really  prayed  ;)  from  that  time  never 
more  to  bend  her  knee  in  private,  or  her  heart 
anywhere  before  the  God  of  heaven,  until  of  his 
sovereign  grace  and  mercy  she  was  born  anew. 
Things  could  not  rest  there,  and  they  did  not;  she 
was  no  thoughtless,  careless  being,  to  remain  in- 
different:— but  of  this  hereafter.  There  was  one 
dogma  received  without  disputation  in  this  new 
abode  of  the  sometime  poet,  the  precocious  book- 
worm— the  letter-devoted  child ;  namely,  that  it 
was  not  genteel  for  ladies  to  know  anything,  ex- 
cept to  dress  and  dance,  and  behave  themselves  in 
company ;  and  manage  their  families,  and  ply 
their  needles  out  of  it.  Never,  certainly,  was 
doctrine  more  practically  exhibited,  than  this;  for 
there  was  not,  during  the  first  year  of  Caroline's 
residence  there,  a  single  book  in  the  house,  except 
a  stray  volume  of  Cowper's  Poems,  for  reading 
on  Sunday,  when  the  needle-wTork  was  suspended. 
Of  course  the  credulous  disciple  took  care  never 
to  remember  that  she  had  read  so  much  beyond 
her  years  at  one  time :  this  had  been  long  relin- 
quished ;  she  was  a  willing,  well-convinced  believer 
in  this  new  code  of  politeness.  Whether  anything 
occurred,  to  shake  the  decision  against  books  in 
general,  wre  cannot  say;  but,  all  at  once,  an  ele- 
gant book-case  made  its  appearance  in  the  back 
drawing-room,  for  the  reception  of  a  lot  of  hand- 
somely-bound books,  bought  at  a  sale,  without  the 
smallest  respect  to  what  they  might  be  about.  It 
did  not  signify,  it  was  Caroline's  business  to  keep 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD.  5  J 

them  properly  arranged,  according  to  their  re- 
spective heights  and  sizes;  and  no  further  notice 
was  taken  of  them.  In  fact,  Caroline  strongly  felt 
the  obligation  she  considered  herself  under,  for 
her  residence  in  *  *  *'s  house ;  she  was  led  to  be- 
lieve that  she  wras  totally  dependent,  and  that 
every  thing  she  received  was  his.  She  wras  very 
grateful  and  very  happy,  even  in  the  enjoyment  of 
much  that  she  had  not  been  used  to  in  her  early 
home;  and  she  must  have  been  deprived  of  more 
in  the  declining  circumstances  of  her  family  :  in 
short,  bhe  was  told  and  thought  she  was  wholly 
dependent.  Her  great  desire  was  to  be  useful,  in 
return  to  *  *  *'s  family  ;  there  were  five  or  six 
young  children,  and  the  mother  delicate.  Caro- 
line's whole  time,  therefore,  was  occupied  with  the 
sublime  arts  of  millinery  and  dress-making,  or 
dress-trimming  ;  for  it  was  mostly  the  ornamental 
parts  that  fell  to  her  share;  it  maybe  inferred, 
that  in  the  suspension  of  every  other  exercise  of 
her  talents,  this  was  a  real  pleasure  to  her — and 
she  thinks  it  was.  The  same  faculty  that  draws  a 
flower,  makes  a  cap,  and  puts  a  ready-made 
flower  elegantly  into  it ;  the  same  taste  that  is 
brought  to  bear  in  the  composition  of  a  poem,  will 
please  itself  in  the  arrangement  of  a  dress,  and 
Caroline's  talents  were  brought  to  bear  ;  with  the 
pleasure  of  pleasing,  extremely  great  to  her  at  all 
times,  and  pleasure  no  doubt  in  the  exercise  of  her 
skill,  she  had  also  the  necessity  of  her  own  vanity 
to  be  supplied — though   to  do  her  justice,  it  was 


52  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

little  enough ;  she  never  cared  for  dress,  but  dress- 
ed she  must  be,  as  became  her  position ;  and  the 
bargain  usually  was,  that  if  Caroline  would  make 
and  ornament  *  *  *  *'s  ball-dress,  she  should  have 
one  like  it  for  herself.  This,  with  making  a  fac 
simile  of  every  beautiful  and  newly  finished  cap 
that  was  caught  sight  of  at  a  party,  or  even  in  a 
shop  window,  and  cutting  out  for  the  sempstress 
all  the  children's  clothes,  and  making  all  her  own, 
w7here  every  thing  was  to  be  of  fashionable  and 
economical  admixture,  was  no  sinecure;  and  from 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  to  a  late  hour  at 
night,  when  not  engaged  with  company  abroad  or 
at  home,  Caroline  laboured  unremittingly  in  her 
vocation,  and  would  have  thought  half  an  hour 
abstracted  for  a  book,  a  real  dereliction  of  her 
duties.  There  was  an  exception,  however,  and 
most  curiously  it  served  to  supply  what  in  her 
previous  reading  had  been  totally  excluded  ;  and 
made  her  widely  acquainted  with  a  class  of  litera- 
ture of  which  she  might  else  have  remained  igno- 
rant ;  the  indiscriminate  trash  of  the  circulating 
library,  and  which  at  that  time,  circumstances 
gave  the  opportunity  of  perusing. 

Was  Caroline  injured  by  it?  I  think  she  was 
not;  perhaps  for  the  destiny  for  which  Almighty 
love  and  mercy  was  preparing  her,  she  was  con- 
siderably benefited.  The  only  case  in  which 
novel-reading  can  be  harmless,  is,  where  the  mind 
has  been  previously  solidified  by  much  reading  and 
reflection,  so  as  to   be  capable  of  no  impression 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD. 


53 


from  them  beyond  the  surface,  which  may  then 
receive  a  polish  from  works  of  taste  and  fancy, 
without  the  mind  being  vitiated  or  enervated  by 
them.  That  the  mind  of  a  young  female  should 
receive  no  injury  of  another  sort,  to  taint  its  deli- 
cacy and  purity  of  thought  and  feeling,  requires  a 
case  of  great  peculiarity,  such  as  never  may  be 
presumed  upon  at  nineteen ;  a  childlike  insensi- 
bility. Yet  so  it  was,  and  Caroline  gathered  in 
this  manner  an  insight  into  humanity,  into  life  and 
manners,  such  as  no  previous  opportunity  had 
afforded  her  the  means  of  observing,  without  any 
injury  to  her  mind  and  morals,  in  its  measure 
counteracting  the  absolute  seclusion  in  which  she 
had  grown  up,  and  amalgamating,  very  harmlessly 
and  beneficially,  with  the  very  grave  and  solid 
reading  of  her  early  years.  Thus  out  of  every 
evil,  Almighty  power  wrought  something  towards 
his  purposes  of  good.  For  any  purposes  but  those 
of  his  great  mercy,  never  was  unhappy  child  more 
ill-placed  or  ill-conditioned,  or  so  ill-suited  to  her 
position.  Her  natural  capabilities,  suppressed  and 
forgotten  by  herself,  her  natural  defects  brought 
into  distressing  observation  to  others,  and  con- 
scious embarrassment  to  herself.  If  any  one  of 
her  society  then,  should  read  these  memoirs,  (it  is 
not  likely,  for  she  was  youngest  among  them,) 
they  may  remember  the  country  girl,  who  blushed 
whenever  she  was  spoken  to,  and  blundered  when- 
ever she  spoke;  who  never  opened  her  lips  in  pre- 
sence of ,  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at  or 


54  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

reproved,  who  snuffed  out  the  candles,  and  stirred 
the  coals  over  the  bar  for  the  very  fear  of  doing 
it;  who  laughed  when  she  was  flattered,  and  was 
rude  when  she  was  courted,  whose  very  modesty 
made  her  stupid,  and  her  artlessness  ill-mannered; 
all  suppressed  in  her  that  was  natural,  all  impossi- 
ble to  her  that  was  artificial,  trying  to  be  every 
thing  but  what  she  was,  incapable  of  every  thing 
she  was  desired  to  be,  she  grew  daily  more  timid 
and  consequently  more  reserved,  more  abashed 
and  consequently  more  awkward.  What  Caro- 
line was  at  this  time,  or  passed  for  mentally,  we 
wish  there  was  one  left  to  tell,  for  it  is  her  mind's 
history  we  alone  desire  to  write,  yet  tell  we  can- 
not. If  any  one  who  knew  her  at  that  time,  and 
lived  even  familiarly  in  company  with  her,  took 
her  to  have  any  talent,  understanding,  or  mental 
power  and  cultivation  of  any  kind  whatever,  they 
knew  her  better  than  she  knew  herself;  but  we 
should  be  surprised  to  hear  of  it;  she  supposes  she 
talked  the  nonsense  she  enacted  for  those  three 
w7hole  years  of  vanity  and  waste.  The  society 
she  moved  in  was  much  of  the  kind  which  pre- 
vailed in  that  neighbourhood,  but  the  rapid  move- 
ment of  her  subsequent  life  has  worn  out  every 
impression  of  the  greater  number  of  them,  names, 
persons,  characters  and  all,  very  few  having 
crossed  her  later  paths,  or  been  anything  to  her, 
then  or  since,  but  the  companions  of  her  hours  of 
amusement;  she  cared  nothing  about  them,  and 
has  known   nothing  about  them    since.     If  they 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD, 


have  heard  of  her,  they  must  have  thought  it 
strange  material  for  a  blue-stocking  and  a  metho- 
dist.  But  His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  nor  His 
thoughts  as  our  thoughts.  One  person  there  was 
however,  in  the  society  of  this  period,  who  claims 
a  particular  mention,  both  for  his  own  reputation, 
and  the  influence  his  society  may  have  had  upon 
the  subject  of  this  memoir.  His  acquaintance 
proved  another  ray  of  literature  in  the  dark  ages 
of  this  her  unliterary  life,  which,  like  the  novel- 
reading,  served  its  purpose,  for  it  made  her  fa- 
miliar with  the  transactions  of  the  stage  and  its 
purveyors.  Mr.  C.  was  at  this  time  above  severity 
years  of  age,  and  for  the  fineness  of  his  person, 
the  dignity  and  elegance  of  his  manner,  might 
have  been  monarch  of  the  realm.  It  is  possible 
that  distance  may  have  exaggerated  the  early 
impression,  but  it  seemed  to  her  she  has  never 
seen  any  one,  whose  whole  person  and  manner 
were  so  courtly  and  high-bred,  his  tall  upright 
person,  his  snow-white  hair,  and  fine,  benevolent, 
and  yet  impatient  and  irritable  countenance,  his 
easy  and  yet  important  air,  of  condescending  con- 
sequence, his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  fine  and  care- 
fully-dressed head,  the  one  hand  in  his  bosom,  and 
the  other  in  a  sort  of  consequential  swing  at  his  side, 
is  an  impression  still  fresh,  made  permanent  no 
doubt,  by  the  absolute  and  unmixed  pleasure  the 
sight  of  it  produced.  Caroline  had  known  him  first 
at  Tunbridge  Wells,  where  her  childish  poetry  used 
to  be  submitted  to  his  admiration  by  her  father; 


56  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

but  that  was  at  a  distance,  now  he  was  the  fami- 
liar of .  .  .  .  's  house,  where,  living  great  part  of 
the  year  at  an  hotel  in  London,  he  found  it  very 
convenient  to  dine  every  day  that  he  happened  to 
have  no  engagement,  where  he  was  courted,  hu- 
moured, almost  idolized,  and  every  thing  that 
could  be  done  to  please  him,  was  felt  to  be  repaid 
by  the  mirth  which  his  never-failing  wit  inspired. 
Wit  that  spared  nothing  human  or  divine,  friends, 
life,  morality,  religion,  nothing  barred  the  jest; 
and  they  who  laughed  most  heartily  at  the  last 
joke,  had  reason  to  believe  themselves  the  subject 
of  the  next,  as  soon  as  their  backs  were  turned ; 
excess  of  compliment  in  their  presence  was  some- 
times scarcely  less  a  satire,  though  the  high  polish 
of  the  manner  hid  the  fact.  As  was  most  natural, 
Caroline  attached  herself  entirely  to  this  fasci- 
nating old  man.  The  first  scholar — the  first  lite- 
rary man — the  first  courtly  man  she  had  ever  had 
any  intimacy  with,  and  who,  to  all  appearance, 
loved  and  admired  her.  Whether  so  or  not,  he 
loaded  her  with  flattery  and  caresses,  poured  ever 
in  her  ear  the  praises  of  her  person,  repeated  all 
he  heard  from  others  of  her  beauty,  and  frequent- 
ly remonstrated  with  her  upon  the  insouciance 
with  which  she  received  the  attentions  of  persons 
whom  he  wished  her  to  attract ;  and  it  was  finally 
decided  by  all  about  her  that  she  had  no  heart, 
since  nobody  made  any  impression  on  it.  It  was 
a  remarkable  providence,  in  connection  with  her 
subsequent  life,  that  she  did  not  marry  then,  when 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD.  57 

she  would  as  soon  have  accepted  one  as  another, 
if  externally  agreeable  and  desirable.*  If  the  in- 
sidious flattery  of  this  dangerous  old  man,  whom 
she  admired,  revered  and  loved,  failed  as  it  did, 
to  make  any  impression  on  her  delicacy,  artless- 
ness,  and  purity  of  thought  and  feeling,  there  was 
that  in  which  the  influence  of  his  corrupt  com- 
panionship did  not  fail :  she  was  too  innocent  for 
his  immorality,  she  was  just  ready  for  his  irreli- 
gion.  Never  perhaps  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen 
and  twenty,  in  a  heart  of  such  simplicity  and  in- 
corruptness,  and  real  ignorance  of  evil,  was  the 
enmity  of  the  fallen  nature  so  developed.  We 
wish  to  call  attention  to  it,  and  if  we  have  been 
writing  what  seems  useless  detail,  we  have  done 
so  on  purpose  to  give  the  full  value  to  this  particu- 
lar point.  It  is  written  that  the  natural  heart  is 
"enmity"  against  God.  Who  believes  this  as  a 
universal  truth?  When  vice  has  indurated  the 
heart,  when  habit  has  vitiated  and  the  world  cor- 
rupted it,  it  may  be  so,  but  what  virtuous,  happy, 
young  and  unspoiled  nature,  ever  thought  of  hatred 
towards   the  God  that  made   us?     Fearlessness, 

*  There  is  surely  one  lesson  deducible  from  this ;  a  virtu- 
ous and  moral  childhood  was  sufficient  to  secure  the  youth- 
ful mind  from  subsequent  moral  corruption — the  formalities 
of  religious  propriety  were  no  defence  against  the  insinua- 
tions of  infidelity  and  ungodliness — and  why!  the  one  was 
a  reality,  and  the  other  a  fiction — the  habits  were  virtuous — 
they  were  not  religious.  The  pure,  clear  mind  of  youth  is 
rarely  impressed  with  what  is  false  and  fictitious  in  itself. 


58 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


indifference,  forgetfulness  is  natural,  but  not,  sure- 
ly not,  "enmity."  Pt  rhaps  there  aie  very  few- 
believers,  looking  back  upon  their  days  of  gay  and 
joyous  godlessness,  that  can  at  all  verify  the  Scrip- 
ture statement  in  themselves;  how  should  they 
have  hated  the  Being  they  never  thought  about 
and  cared  for,  who  never  crossed  their  path  with 
present  ill,  nor  marred  their  pleasures  with  fear  of 
retribution?  But  here,  in  the  bosom  of  a  simple 
girl,  brought  up  in  all  the  virtuous  regularity  and 
real  religious  observance  of  a  secluded  country 
life — a  stranger  to  all  that  is  morally  evil,  to  a 
degree,  that  would  not  be  credited  if  it  were  fully 
explained ;  with  a  mind  solidly  instructed,  and 
unused  to  any  manner  of  evil  influence  by  books 
or  company,  hitherto  a  stranger  to  sorrows, 
wrongs,  and  fears,  that  tend  to  harden  the  ungra- 
cious heart — in  this  unvitiated,  unworldly  bosom, 
was  manifested  at  that  early  age,  clear  and  strong 
to  her  memory  as  if  it  was  of  yesterday,  a  living, 
active  hatred  to  the  very  name  of  God.  She  per- 
suaded herself  there  was  no  God,  and  thought  she 
believed  her  own  heart's  lie;  but  if  she  did,  why 
did  sh^  hate  him? — why  did  she  feel  such  reno- 
vated delight  when  his  name  was  the  subject  of 
the  profane  old  poet's  wit?  "No  God"  was  pro- 
bably with  her,  as  it  probably  is  with  every  other 
infidel — the  determination  of  the  heart,  and  not  of 
the  judgment.  Thus  while  she  thought  herself 
above  all  religious  doubts,  she  seized  delightedly 
on  every  manifestation  of  infidelity  in  those  around 
her,  and  laughed  with  the  very  utmost  zest  of  gra- 


EARLY  WOMANHOOD.  59 

tified  aversion,  at  every  profanation  of  the  holy 
name.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  religious  dis- 
cussion in  society  there,  nobody  talked  about  the 
Gospel  but  those  that  believed  it;  and  no  so-called 
religious  people  were  met  with  in  ordinary  society. 
All  mention  of  religion  therefore  was  casual  and 
jocular;  ridicule  and  not  argument;  nobody  rea- 
soned against  the  faith  of  Christ,  every  body  des- 
pised it,  the  most  knew  nothing  about  it.  Its  pro- 
fessors were  too  little  known  or  heard  of  generally, 
in  such  society,  to  be  the  objects  of  malignity. 
No,  it  was  the  master,  not  the  servants  then,  on 
whom  we  spent  our  malice.  Caroline  recals  one 
instance  only, — it  was  just  then  that  Mrs.  H.  More 
published  her  Ccelebs.  It  never  reached  this  book- 
less mansion,  but  it  was  talked  of  every  where  and 
almost  every  body  read  it.  It  was  a  very  unlikely 
book  to  commend  religion  to  any  worldly  mind ; 
and  the  general  decision  was  not  altogether  unjust, 
that  no  such  man  should  be  or  would  be  endured 
in  polite  society;  the  existence  of  a  world  in  which 
he  could  be  acceptable,  was  wholly  unknown  to 
the  circle  in  which  Caroline  was  then  placed. 

The  three  years  of  vanity  and  folly  and  mental 
degradation  had  expired — the  altered  habits  of  her 
life  had  told  on  the  body — habitual  sickliness  had 
taken  place  of  the  fresh  bloom  of  health — the  total 
want  of  air  and  exercise,  inseparable  from  a  Lon- 
don life,  had  unnerved  the  limbs  and  paled  the 
cheeks,  and  damped  the  spirits — while  nervous 
sensitiveness  and  irritability  had  increased  in  due 
proportion. 


60  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CONVERSION. 


Life  is  very  uncertain,  and  intellect  precarious. 
She  who  writes  the  beginning  may  never  write 
the  end.  There  is  an  event  in  every  Christian's 
life  more  important  to  ourselves,  and  more  redo- 
lent with  the  glory  of  God,  than  all  events  beside — 
"  the  new  birth  unto  righteousness."  Extraordi- 
nary as  the  manner  of  it  was  to  her,  and  in  its 
minute  particulars  known  only  to  herself,  ought 
she  to  postpone  such  a  brief  record  of  the  circum- 
stances as  will  secure  to  the  sovereignty  of  divine 
grace,  the  praise  and  glory  of  this  undeserved  in- 
terposition of  redeeming  love  ?  She  will  here 
narrate  in  brief,  what  may  be  amplified  hereafter, 
should  the  writer  live  to  complete  her  purpose. 

It  will  be  seen,  if  these  pages  are  ever  filled — if 
not,  it  might  never  have  been  known,  that  at 
twenty  to  twenty-five  years  of  age,  Caroline  was 
an  atheist  in  heart — and  only  not  quite  one  in 
understanding:  she  wished  that  there  should  be 
no  God;  but  because  she  was  not  quite  satisfied 
that  there  was  none,  she  hated  the  very  utterance 
of  his  name,  except  when  it  was  made  a  jest  of. 


CONVERSION. 


61 


In  what  company  that  occurred  may  appear  here- 
after. She  was  no  longer  ignorant,  thoughtless, 
uninformed  upon  religion.  She  had  read  books, 
heard  preachers,  known  saints — several  of  her 
own  family  were  already  under  the  influence  of 
divine  grace — she  knew  and  hated  all,  and  most 
intensely  Him  of  whom  is  all.  Years  had  passed 
since  she  deigned  to  bend  the  knee  in  prayer. 
His  word  she  never  read  except  upon  compulsion 
— being  required  to  do  so  with  her  pupils — the 
most  disliked  of  all  her  daily  tasks.  She  never 
went  to  church  but  for  decency  or  necessity,  and 
made  it  a  rule  and  a  deliberate  effort  not  to  listen 
or  to  join  in  the  service;  a  systematic  wickedness 
of  which  to  this  day  she  reaps  the  fruits,  in  the 
insurmountable  difficulty  she  finds  in  keeping  her 
attention  to  the  service ;  now  that  with  all  her  soul 
she  loves  it.  The  natural  heart  is  said  to  be  en- 
mity against  God — no  doubt  it  is  so  always — but 
there  may  be  few  cases  in  which  the  fact  was  so 
palpable  and  demonstrable — so  known  to  the  heart 
itself,  so  actually  in  conscious  operation,  within 
herself;  for  it  is  not  probable  that  any  one  ever 
heard  it  from  her  lips.  Though  talkative  in  trifles, 
she  was  exceedingly  reserved  as  to  her  actual 
thoughts,  and  still  more  as  to  her  feelings,  and  she 
had  no  bosom  friend  or  kindred  soul  to  tell  them 
to.  She  never  did  tell  them.  To  the  few  who 
would  speak  to  her  upon  religion,  she  listened  with 
silent  amenity,  or  studied  philosophical  indiffer- 
ence: they  had  a  right  to  their  opinions — she 
6 


(J2  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

would  not  have  disturbed  them  on  any  account, 
since  they  liked  to  think  so,  there  was  no  harm 
in  doing  it.  So  well  did  she  understand  their 
feelings  and  opinions,  and  so  indulgently  consider 
them,  that  one  time  sleeping  in  the  same  room 
with  a  sick  sister,  whose  mind  was  morbidly, 
but  most  spiritually  and  truly  affected  with  re- 
ligious melancholy,  that  sweet  sister  would  some- 
times, in  her  sleepless  nights,  ask  Caroline  if  she 
might  repeat  some  hymns  to  her,  and  Caroline 
would  kindly  answer,  "Do,  my  dear;"  and  when 
in  return,  Amelia  asked  Caroline  to  repeat 
hymns  to  her,  she  answered  that  she  did  not 
know  any,  but  she  would  make  some  against 
another  night,  and  she  actually  did  make  some, 
that  not  only  satisfied  her  sister,  but  continue 
to  this  time  as  acceptable  to  believers  as  her 
more  recent  verses.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  that 
one  of  these  hymns — beginning  "For  what  shall 
I  praise  Thee,v*  of  which,  when  she  wrote  it, 
she  did  not  believe  a  word,  and  had  no  intention 
but  to  suit  the  feelings  of  her  sister, — was  ten  or 

*  For  what  shall  I  praise  Thee,  my  God  and  my  king ; 
For  what  blessings  the  tribute  of  gratitude  bring  1 
Shall  I  praise  Thee  for  plenty,  for  health  and  for  ease, 
For  the  spring  of  delight,  and  the  sunshine  of  peace  ] 

Shall  I  praise  Thee  for  flowers  that  bloom'd  on  my  breast ; 
For  joys  in  perspective,  or  pleasures  possess'd? 
For  the  spirits  that  heightened  my  days  of  delight, 
And  the  slumber  that  sat  on  my  pillow  at  night! 


CONVERSION.  63 

twelve  years  afterwards  shown  her  in  manuscript 
as  a  great  treasure,  by  a  pious  young  lady  who 
did  not  know  whence  it  came,  and  hesitated  to  be- 
lieve her  assertion  that  she  had  written  it  herself. 
This  was  an  awful  state,  but  it  resulted,  in  the  won- 
drous power  of  Him  who  makes  even  of  evil  the 
ministers  of  his  good,  that  when  faith  was  given, 
knowledge  had  not  to  be  waited  for;  difference  of 
doctrine  and  modifications  of  belief,  and  all  scrip- 
tural or  unscriptural  arguments  in  support  of  each 
were  perfectly  familiar  to  her — like  one  acquaint- 
ed with  the  localities  of  a  country,  its  languages 
and  habits — when  it  was  given  her  to  enter  by  the 
gate,  the  way  was  plain  before  her.  Indeed  she 
had  even  so  far  considered  the  various  views  of 
Christianity,  as  to  have  concluded  that,  if  there  was 
anything  in  it  at  all,  the  Calvinists  had  the  better 
of  the  controversy;  a  conclusion  to  which  she  was 

For  all  this  should  I  praise  Thee,  and  only  for  this, 
I  should  leave  half  unsung,  thy  donation  of  bliss: 
I  praise  Thee  for  sorrow,  for  sickness,  for  care ; 
For  the  thorns  I  have  gather'd,  the  anguish  T  bear. 

For  my  nights  of  anxiety,  watching  and  tears; 
A  present  of  pain ;  a  perspective  of  fears ; 
I  praise  Thee,  I  bless  Thee,  my  King  and  my  God, 
For  the  good  and  the  evil,  Thy  hand  has  bestow'd. 

The  flowers  were  sweet,  but  their  fragrance  is  flown, 
They  left  me  no  fruit,  they  are  withered  and  gone; 
The  thorn  it  is  poignant,  but  precious  to  me, 
As  the  message  of  mercy,  that  led  me  to  Thee. 


(J4  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

most  decidedly  brought  by  the  reading  of  Dr.  Tom- 
line's  famous  work,  "The  Refutation  of  Calvinism," 
one  of  the  latest  theological  works  she  read  be- 
fore her  conversion.*  How  was  a  mind  to  be 
reached  thus  trenched  and  fortified?  Opinion  had 
no  weight  with  her ;  authorities  had  no  influence. 
She  had  no  dislike  to  hear  the  truth  preached,  or 
to  the  conversation  of  those  who  believed  it,  or  to 
their  persons.  She  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  disliking  the  Copernican  system  or  its  advocates, 
or  any  other  scientific  controversy.  Her  eldest 
brother  was  at  this  time  a  distinguished  minister 
^nd  writer  in  the  Church  of  Christ — a  man  of  ac- 
knowledged talent  and  learning.  Caroline  had 
heard  him  preach,  and  read  his  wrorks,  and  held 
him  in  very  high  esteem  and  much  affection  ;  but 
his  religious  opinions  had  not  the  smallest  influ- 
ence. He  considered  Caroline  as  the  most  hope- 
less of  his  family,  several  of  whom  were  beginning 
to  be  spiritually  affected.  He  is  said  to  have  re- 
marked about  this  time  :  "  There  is  the  pride  of  in- 
tellect, that  will  never  come  down  I" — humanly 
speaking,  what  was  to  reach  it?  It  was  always 
the  judge,  and  not  the  pupil,  of  whatever  authori- 
ties might  be  brought  before  it.     Jt  has  been  said 

*  Calvinism  would  have  been  little  proud  of  its  proselyte — 
for  whatever  she  had  studied  beside,  she  had  not  studied  the 
Scriptures  to  discover  who  was  right;  but  as  an  impartial 
and  disinterested  judg-e,  exercised  her  own  intellect  and 
reason  upon  human  statements. 


CONVERSION'. 


05 


she  did  not  dislike  to  hear  the  truth,  but  there  was 
that  which  she  did  dislike,  which  she  hated,  the 
Word  that  taught  it.  Neither  the  poetical  beauties, 
nor  the  historic  interest  of  the  Bible  could  give  it 
any  charm.  She  could  not  endure  it,  she  would 
not  read  it,  and  when  read  before  her,  she  de- 
liberately determined  not  to  listen.  O,  blessed  and 
immutable  Word  !  now  the  joy  of  her  heart,  the 
comfort  of  her  life,  the  exhaustless  feast  of  her  in- 
tellect and  feelings  !  Why  was  it  that  she  could 
amuse  herself  with  the  same  truths  from  the  lips 
of  man,  and  take  no  offence,  and  feel  no  hatred; 
but  could  not  bear  it  there  ?  Surely  because  it 
has  a  potency  which  is  not  any  where  beside — 
"  a  savour  of  life  unto  life,  or  death  unto  death," 
which  with  all  her  philosophy  and  scepticism,  she 
dared  not  meet. 

It  is  always  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  Om- 
niscient God  works  with,  and  not  against,  the 
natural  disposition  of  the  mind.  This  independent 
intellect  was  to  be  left  unassailed,  in  the  strong- 
holds of  its  pride,  and  Caroline  w^as  to  be  reached, 
where  only  she  was  vulnerable,  through  her  affec- 
tions. At  this  momentous  period  Caroline  was 
residing  in  the  family  of  the  Rev.  T.  M. — .,  where 
everything  was  against  the  probability  of  her  re- 
ceiving religious  impressions,  except  the  restless, 
unsatisfied,  unhappy  state  of  her  own  mind,  dis- 
pleased with  every  thing  around  her  and  within 
her ;  weary  and  disgusted  with  the  present,  and 
gloomy  and  hopeless  of  the  future,  without  a  single 
6* 


QQ  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

sorrow  but  the  absence  of  all  joy,  kindly  entreat- 
ed, humoured,  flattered  and  indulged  by  every 
one;  her  dependent  situation  notwithstanding,  she 
was  humorsome,  rude,  discontented  and  ungrate- 
ful. What  wonder  that  she  was  so  to  those  kind 
friendly  creatures,  who  to  the  latest  years  of  her 
intercourse  or  knowledge  of  them,  continued  to 
admire  and  love  her,  this  conduct  notwithstanding, 
— what  wonder,  when  her  heart  was  locked  and 
seared  against  the  love  of  Him,  who  at  this  very 
moment  stood  at  the  door  and  knocked,  and  was 
not  asked  to  enter ! 

It  has  been  said  she  never  read — she  never 
prayed — she  never  listened — wishing  to  be  very 
exact  in  this  particular,  she  will  not  omit,  however, 
to  mention  what  might  be  the  first  stirring  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  within  her.  She  recollects  a  few 
nights  when  having  laid  down  as  usual  without 
any  attempt  at  prayer,  in  the  intense  feeling  of  her 
depression,  as  about  to  close  her  eyes,  she  mental- 
ly uttered  something  to  this  effect ; — "God,  if  thou 
art  a  God,  I  do  not  love  thee,  I  do  not  want  thee, 
I  do  not  believe  in  any  happiness  in  thee;  but,  I 
am  miserable  as  I  am,  give  me  what  I  do  not  seek, 
do  not  like,  do  not  want — if  thou  canst  make  me 
happy;  I  am  tired  of  this  world,  if  there  is  any- 
thing better,  give  it  me  !"  This,  or  nearly  to  this 
effect,  felt  between  sleeping  and  waking,  not  upon 
her  knees,  but  upon  her  bed,  was  all  of  prayer 
that  preceded  her  conversion.  Is  it  possible,  that 
the   Most   Merciful,  heart-searching   God,  could 


CONVERSION.  67 

have  said  of  her  at  this  moment,  "  Behold  she  pray- 
eth  V  She  cannot  tell.  He  heard  an  Ahab  once  : 
but  Ahab  wanted  what  he  asked,  she  did  not;  she 
was  determined  not  to  have  it.  She  cannot  tell, 
but  this  was  the  moment  when  the  messenger  of 
peace  appeared.  In  the  destitution  of  her  affec- 
tions at  this  moment,  Caroline  fixed  them  with  ve- 
hement partiality  on  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman 
in  the  adjoining  parish.  As  all  her  feelings  were 
passions,  and  passion  is  not  very  discriminating, 
she  finds  it  hard  to  judge  now,  whether  this  new 
object  of  her  enthusiasm  was  all  she  took  her  for ; 
subsequent  events  have  inclined  her  to  doubt  it  ; 
but  she  was  a  lovely  creature,  of  great  beauty, 
highly  cultivated  mind,  and  most  endearing  man- 
ners; a  perfect  contrast  to  Caroline  in  character, 
but  alike  in  age,  and  though  then  living  in  her 
father's  house,  contemplating  the  necessity  of  enter- 
ing upon  the  same  course  of  existence,  being  the 
eldest  of  a  large  and  unprovided  family — a  great 
favourite  too — far  more  deserving  than  poor 
Caroline,  for   she  was   kind    and    grateful   to  the 

members   of  the  family  in  which   C resided. 

And  here  again  she  would  bear  testimony  to  the 
generous  kindness  of  those  friends,  mortified  as 
they  plainly  were,  by  the  preference,  or  rather  the 
exclusive  affection  these  young  ladies  exhibited  for 
each  other.  Nothing  else  was  cared  for,  nothing 
else  was  enjoyed  ;  the  three  miles  that  separated 
them,  gave  occasion  for  daily  correspondence, 
and  daily  impatience  of  all  that  intervened.     The 


Qg  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

devotion  to  each  other  was,  or  seemed  to  be, 
equal ;  and  there  was  a  further  equality  not  very 
common  in  these  attachments  between  females — 
which  ever  was  the  superior  on  the  whole,  it  is 
certain  that  each  one  looked  upon  the  other  as 
something  superior  to  herself,  an  object  as  much 
of  admiration  as  of  love  ;  so  at  least  it  is  remember- 
ed that  Fanny  always  said,  and  Caroline  always 
felt.  If  she  be  living,  she  may  remember  other- 
wise. Their  mode  of  carrying  on  this  romantic 
fondness  was  different  enough.  Caroline,  as  usual, 
run  headlong  into  it,  said  all  she  thought,  did 
all  she  wished,  and  committed  herself  in  a  thou- 
sand ways,  in  order  to  pursue  and  gratify  her  im- 
petuous affection.  Her  friend  was  calm,  polite, 
self-possessed,  conciliatory ;  she  knew  the  world 
better,  and  cared  for  it  more ;  she  never  said,  or 
did,  or  looked  anything  that  was  not  proper  ;  for 
time,  or  place,  or  circumstance ;  in  short,  Fanny 
was  always  doing  right,  and  poor  Caroline  was  al- 
ways doing  wrong — upon  the  matter  of  their 
mutual  love. 

Was  Fanny  religious  1  All  who  read  this,  will 
eagerly  ask  it. — No  !  let  God  have  his  glory,  and 
the  Holy  Spirit  the  sole  credit  of  his  work.  After 
the  deep-felt  experience  of  five-and-twenty  years, 
and  the  thoughtful  reconsideration  of  all  that  past,  it 
is  written  without  hesitation,  Fanny  was  not  then 
spiritually  enlightened,  though  apparently  religious; 
but  Caroline  thought  she  was,  and  that  mistake  was 
made  the   instrument  of  her  conversion.     Fanny 


CONVERSION.  g9 

had  had  an  early  disappointment,  probably  a  blight 
of  her  affections,  certainly  of  her  worldly  expecta- 
tions. Her  beauty  and  education  had  failed  to 
procure  for  her,  up  to  that  time,  what  both  she 
and  her  parents  had  expected  from  their  charm; 
and  what  is  not  uncommon  at  five-and-twenty,  the 
day  seemed  wearing  away,  and  destiny  taking  its 
colour  from  the  past  rather  than  from  the  future. 
In  short,  the  beautiful,  fascinating,  clever  girl,  had 
been  in  love,  had  been  forsaken,  and  was  in  de- 
spair— of  faith,  or  truth,  or  love,  for  ever  after — 
her  father  was  very  poor  and  getting  old,  disap- 
pointed expectation  lay  behind,  and  anticipated 
dependence  lay  before.  The  world  and  Fanny 
"  had  long  been  jarring,  and  could  not  part  on  bet- 
ter terms  than  now;"  consequently  she  denounced 
it,  she  wished  to  leave  it,  she  talked  much  of  its 
vanity,  she  was  or  thought  she  was  of  a  consump- 
tive habit,  and  not  likely  to  live  many  years;  she 
talked  much  of  death,  and  much  of  eternity,  and 
much  of  God  ;  I  do  not  remember  that  she  ever 
spake  of  Christ,  of  atoning  merits  or  redeeming 
love.  I  believe  she  knew  them  not,  she  talked  of 
the  world's  emptiness,  levity  and  injustice.  I  do 
not  remember  she  ever  spake  of  her  own  sins.  I 
believe  her  religion  was  purely  sentimental.  With 
Caroline  it  passed  for  more,  she  believed  all,  even 
to  the  consumptive  symptoms  and  premature  de- 
parture, many  times  shed  tears  alone  at  thought  of 
losing  her  only  treasure  ;  but  these  forebodings 
were,  however,   not  realized.     Caroline  had  not 


70 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


been  in  love,  and  had  not  been  forsaken,  and  had 
received  no  injuries  from  the  world,  but  she  was 
out  of  humour  with  it  too.  She  too  was  five-and- 
twenty,  and  thought  the  past  was  all,  and  she  and 
the  world  worn  out.  The  character  brought  with 
her  into  the  world  had  now  returned  upon  her,  and 
under  the  auspices  of  her  new  friend,  when  they 
stole  at  midnight  from  their  separate  rooms  to  pass 
the  night  together;  again — for  the  first  time  since 
she  sat  on  the  stile  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
in  "the  Folly,"  at  Tunbridge  Wells;— she  re- 
sumed the  reading  and  enjoyment  of  Young's 
Night  Thoughts — drinking  deep  of  its  melancholy, 
its  pathos  and  its  poetry  without  its  religion,*  as  she 
had  done  at  first.  In  the  midst  of  their  sympathy 
about  the  present  evil  world,  by  which  was  meant 
its  sorrows,  not  its  sins,  one  difference  between  the 
friends  now  made  itself  to  be  felt.  Fanny  expected 
something  more,  Caroline  did  not,  and  this  plainly 
gave  an  advantage  to  her  friend:  both  had,  or 
thought  they  had,  lost  one  world, — Fanny  only 
had,  or  thought  she  had,  the  promise  of  another. 
Not  a  word  of  this  difference,  however,  ever  pass- 
ed between  them,  for  Caroline  never  spoke  of  her 
unbelief,  nor  confessed  the  total  absence  of  reli- 
gious feeling  in  her  bosom.     Religion  w7as  never 

*  Recollection  of  the  two  periods  of  her  life,  in  which  this 
book  was  her  favourite,  has"  given  an  abiding  impression,  that 
it  is  not,  with  all  its  piety  and  beauty,  very  wholesome  read- 
ing. 


CONVERSION. 


71 


once  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  as  far  as  she 
remembers.  But  Fanny  read  the  Bible,  Fanny 
said  her  prayers,  Fanny  was  exact  in  all  her  reli- 
gious duties.  This  was  nothing  to  poor  Caroline; 
but  Fanny  was  also  very  stoical,  very  patient,  very 
meek,  very  submissive  to  her  destiny,  and  deter- 
mined to  fulfil  its  duties,  however  distasteful ;  a 
very  phiiosopher  in  practice  as  well  as  in  theory.* 
Caroline  noted  this  with  shame  and  bitterness  of 
soul,  when  having  passed  the  night  in  sympathy  of 
thoughts,  feeling,  judgment,  liking,  disliking,  wish- 
ing and  determining,  without  a  difference,  they 
appeared  in  the  family  circle,  the  one  wilful,  excit- 
able, hasty  and  unsatisfied,  the  other  all  calmness, 
propriety  and  civility.  On  this  difference  she  pour- 
ed out  her  heart  to  her  friend,  continually  be- 
wailing her  impetuosity  and  want  of  self-control, 
compared  with  the  composure  and  philosophy  ma- 
nifested by  Fanny,  on  all  occasions. 

Oh!  what  it  was  that  turned  upon  that  small 
spring!  I  should  feel  the  want  of  words  to  tell  it, 
but  that  words  however  multiplied  can  add  nothing 
to  the  bare  and  simple  facts.  Most  Merciful,  most 
Inscrutable,  it  was  thy  doing !  How  can  it  do 
otherwise  than  surpass  my  telling.  Let  the  story 
tell  itself. 


*  When  Fanny  soon  afterwards  became  a  governess,  I  be- 
lieve she  did  fulfil  the  duties  and  meet  the  difficulties  and 
dtsagremens  in  a  most  unexceptionable  manner,  and  retained 
her  first  situation  till  she  married. 


72  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Friendship  had  looked  through  the  cover  of  si- 
lence that  slightly  concealed  Caroline's  infidelity. 
Wanting  courage,  I  suppose,  to  enter  upon  the 
hitherto  avoided  subject  when  they  were  together, 
Fanny  took  the  opportunity  of  a  short  absence  to 
write  Caroline  a  letter.  She  deeply  grieves  that 
she  has  by  some  means  destroyed  or  lost  that  letter, 
for  it  was  the  sole  and  single  instrument  of  Heaven 
for  the  conversion  of  her  soul.  She  kept  it  many 
years,  and  often  read  it,  each  time  as  her  know- 
ledge grew,  with  more  astonishment  at  the  won- 
der-working power  of  God — for  there  was  not  in 
it  one  word  of  gospel  truth.  The  design  of  Fanny 
in  writing  was  to  tell  her  friend  that  religion  was 
the  source  of  all  the  advantage  over  her  which 
Caroline  had  so  often  noticed,  and  so  often  en- 
vied— all  that  she  called  philosophy.  The  whole 
amount  of  the  letter,  dilated  upon  well  and  feeling- 
ly no  doubt,  was  this,  to  the  best  of  her  recollec- 
tion,— that  religion  was  the  only  remedy  for  the 
ills  of  life,  and  alone  furnished  principle  for  the  ful- 
filment of  its  duties;  that  she  had  religion  and  Ca- 
roline had  none;  therefore  it  was,  as  Caroline  so 
often  observed  with  pain,  that  Fanny  was  better 
and  happier  than  herself,  under  similar  feelings 
and  circumstances  of  life.  Caroline  believes  that 
it  contained  thus  much  of  truth  and  nothing  more, 
pressed  home  with  kindly  remonstrance  and  per- 
suasion, abetted  with  arguments  and  proofs;  she 
is  sure  it  contained  no  mention  of  Jesus'  name,  of 
justifying  righteousness  or  sanctifying  grace;  or 


CONVERSION.  73 

any  thing  that  believers  call  the  gospel  of  salva- 
tion. But  the  statement  was  true,  she  had  no  reli- 
gion— it  was  religion  that  was  wanting  in  her — 
she  who  wrote  it  little  knew  how  true  it  was;  she 
knew  neither  the  extent  of  the  irreligion,  nor  the 
greatness  of  the  need  ;  nor  the  value  of  the  remedy 
she  proposed.  The  truth,  the  bare,  bald  truth,  that 
religion  was  the  one  thing  needful  that  she  had  not, 
struck  conviction  to  her  soul;  it  was  the  sword  of 
the  Spirit,  piercing  to  the  very  bones  and  marrow 
of  her  existence. 

But  not  without  resistance.  The  first  emotion 
on  perusal  of  the  letter  was  a  paroxysm  of  grief 
and  indignation ;  grief  that  the  idol  of  her  affec- 
tions should  condemn  her,  and  indignation  that  she 
should  presume  to  teach  her;  the  next  was  a  de- 
termined resolution  that  Fanny  should  not  influ- 
ence or  persuade  her.  She  would  resent  the  im- 
pertinence ;  she  would  quarrel  with  her ;  she  would 
break  up  the  friendship  altogether.  What  business 
of  her's  was  it  whether  Caroline  had  any  religion 
or  not?  With  which  brave  but  impotent  intent  she 
wrote  a  long  and  bitter  reply  that  night,  to  be 
forwarded  next  day.  The  next  day,  however, 
brought  no  opportunity  of  sending  to  the  parson- 
age at  C .     The  letter  remained,  and  on  the 

return  of  evening  wras  re-opened.  The  resentment, 
as  usual,  had  spent  itself  in  tears  and  bitter  words, 
and  left  only  pain  and  mortification  to  herself;  the 
expressions  of  that  resentment  were  still  in  her 
own  keeping;  she  put  the  letter  in  the  fire,  and 
7 


74  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

began  to  write  again.  Now  she  would  be  kind, 
reasonable,  indifferent,  philosophical,  superior  to 
all  such  pretensions.  She  is  not  sure  whether  this 
second  letter  was  ever  finished,  certainly  it  was 
never  sent;  and  the  third  evening  came: 

"  But  O  what  endless  ages  roll 
In  those  brief  moments  o'er  the  soul." 

Before  the  third  night  arrived,  the  struggle  was 
over,  the  battle  had  been  fought  and  won,  the 
strong  man  armed  was  vanquished,  the  banner  of 
Jesus  waved  peacefully  over  the  subdued  and  pros- 
trate spirit  of  the  infidel  despiser  of  his  word,  the 
conscious  hater  of  his  most  precious  name  !  Has 
there  been  one  moment  since  that  night  in  which 
she  has  not  loved  it?  "Lord,  thou  knowest." 
There  have  been  many  in  which  she  has  disgraced 
it.  Caroline  does  not  know  that  ever  she  has  dis- 
owned it.  She  is  sure  there  has  been  no  time  at 
which  that  name  has  not  been  all  her  hope  and 
stay  and  confidence,  for  time  and  for  eternity. 
What  other  could  she  have  in  a  case  like  this? 
"Lord,  save  me,  or  I  perish,"  has  been,  and  is, 
from  first  to  last,  the  sum  of  her  religion,  dated 
from  that  most  wondrous  night !  the  first  in  which 
she  knelt  before  the  cross ;  in  which  she  prayed ; 
in  which  she  slept  in  Jesus;  and  died,  and  rose 
again  to  live  in  Him  for  ever.     Amen  and  amen. 

She  can  give  but  little  account  of  the  actual 
conflict.     The  battle  was  not  her's,  but  God's,  of 


CONVERSION. 


75 


which  she  seemed  little  more  than  a  spectator, 
wishing  victory  to  the  opposer  of  the  Spirit.  She 
can  recal  the  shame,  the  vexation,  the  wounded 
pride  with  which  she  first  became  conscious  that 
there  was  a  conflict ;  that  her  heart  was  moved  ; 
and  comforted  herself  that  nobody  knew  it,  that 
nobody  could  know  or  ever  should  know,  what 
was  passing  in  her  mind.  Even  her  friend  should 
never  know  that  she  had  been  for  a  moment 
shaken ;  the  shame  of  that  moment's  weakness 
should  never  be  revealed.  More  than  this  she 
cannot  retrace,  the  work  was  done  without  hand, 
without  time,  without  a  process;  and  like  him  of 
old,  she  found  herself  in  her  chamber  "  clothed 
and  in  her  right  mind,"  clothed  with  "  the  garment 
of  salvation,"  and  assured  of  sin  forgiven,  with  as 
little  perception  of  the  means  as  he,  the  less  pos- 
sessed than  she  had  been,  of  the  infuriate  spirit. 

Whether  that  evening  or  the  next,  she  does  not 
remember,  her  friend's  letter  was  answered  with 
a  full  confession  and  submission  to  the  charge  it 
contained,  and  the  truths  it  urged :  but  Caroline 
has  not  the  smallest  recollection  of  the  manner  of 
it,  or  how  much  it  disclosed  of  her  altered  mind. 
She  understood  too  little  of  the  revulsion  to  ex- 
plain it  probably.  To  others  around  her,  circum- 
stances prevented  detection  of  the  change,  which 
she  had  not  then  the  courage  to  make  known; 
and  which  she  could  not  have  expected  to  be  be- 
lieved or  understood,  by  persons  whose  religion 
had  not  the  faintest  colouring  of  evangelical  truth 


76  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

or  knowledge;  whose  whole  creed  was,  the  "Lord, 
I  thank  thee,"  of  pharisaic  confidence.  The  un- 
wholesome atmosphere  to  which,  doubtless,  was 
attributable,  the  physical  depression  she  had  pre- 
viously suffered,  as  the  winter  advanced,  brought 
on  alarming  symptoms  of  pulmonary  disease  ;  she 
kept  her  chamber,  and  after  many  w^eeks  of  the 
most  tender,  the  most  feeling,  the  most  unbounded 
attention  from  that  generous  family,  so  much  fear 
was  excited  for  her  life,  that  her  friends  were  sent 
for,  and  she  was  removed  by  slow  journeys  to  her 
distant  home.  All  that  appeared  therefore  of  the 
change,  and  became  a  subject  of  remark  in  the 
family, — as,  her  love  for  the  Bible,  and  her  atten- 
tion to  religious  reading,  was  of  course  attributed 
to  sickness,  and  the  contemplation  of  approaching 
death.  What  was  in  her  mind,  meanwhile  1  Most 
naturally  it  was  to  believe  that  her  conversion 
was  the  preparation  for  her  soul's  departure.  She 
believed  that  she  should  die,  and  was  w?ell  pleased 
to  do  so,  for  she  knew  that  she  was  saved;  there 
was  no  place  for  any  feeling  in  her  bosom  but 
wonder,  gratitude,  and  joy,  that  the  brand  had 
been  plucked  from  the  fire,  at  the  very  moment 
when  that  fire  was  to  become  eternity.  There 
needed  time  to  disclose  to  her,  how  unmeet  she 
was  for  the  companion  of  her  Father's  house,  to 
which  she  had  been  called  and  chosen,  and  by 
how  long  a  process  the  dross  of  such  a  heart,  had 
to  be  burned  out,  by  the  sanctifying  influences  of 
the  Spirit.     Freed  from   the  guilt  of  sin,  she  had 


CONVERSION.  77 

yet  no  knowledge  of  its  power.  Her  state  of 
mind  during  that  illness,  may  best  be  compared  to 
his  to  whom  it  was  said,  "This  day  shalt  thou  be 
with  me  in  paradise :"  she  saw  nothing  between 
her  and  the  Lord  who  bought  her,  and  the  inheri- 
tance that  he  had  divided  with  her.  It  was  a  pre- 
sumptuous expectation,  but  it  wTas  the  natural 
result  of  inexperience  in  the  truth  ;  it  was  justly 
grounded,  and  had  her  illness  terminated  as  was 
expected,  it  would  not  have  been  disappointed. 
She  would  have  been  with  Jesus;  she  says  it  and 
signs  it  now,  that  time  and  deep  knowledge  of  in- 
dwelling sin,  have  modified  without  changing  her 
views  of  the  method  of  divine  grace,  the  doctrines 
of  the  gospel — respecting,  that  is,  the  progressive 
sanctification  of  the  justified  believer,  the  work  of 
the  Spirit  in  the  elect  of  God ;  she  says  it  in  the 
face  of  years  of  subsequent  vanity,  earthliness  and 
inconsistency;  in  the  face  of  accumulated  sins  of 
which  the  burthen  is  far  more  intolerable,  at  times, 
than  those  that  preceded  her  conversion  ;  she  says 
it  in  the  face  of  many,  who  reading  these  memo- 
randa, may  affirm  that  they  knew  her  after  this 
period,  with  few  signs  enough  of  conversion  upon 
her;  had  she  died  then,  her  hope  would  not  have 
been  made  ashamed,  she  was  justified  in  Christ 
without  the  deeds  of  the  law  ;  she  signs  it  now, 
and  if  the  opportunity  be  afforded,  should  she  ever 
live  out  her  three-score  years  and  ten,  she  believes 
that  she  will  resign  it  on  her  death-bed,  to  the 
glory  of  the  power  of  the  free  grace  of  God  in 


78  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Jesus  Christ;  and  the  comfort  of  all  who  know 
themselves  to  be  the  subject  of  it.  But  He,  whose 
precious  gem  she  had  become,  had  no  intention  to 
take  it  from  the  fire  with  all  its  base  admixture  of 
earthliness  and  corruption,  infixed  and  indurated 
in  a  manner  the  most  difficult  to  eradicate — by 
habit,  by  character,  by  circumstances,  and  by  wil- 
ful opposition  to  the  word,  so  long  indulged. 

It  is  not  the  intention  here  to  pursue  the  ran- 
somed spirit's  history.  It  will  be  found,  if  God 
spare  her  to  write  it,  in  the  regular  progress  of 
the  memoir.  There  may  be  letters  extant  in 
which,  being  written  at  the  time,  the  state  of  her 
heart  is  better  exhibited  than  it  can  be  at  this  dis- 
tance. Her  brother  was  naturally  the  first,  to 
whom  she  specially  declared  what  God  had  done 
for  her;  and  with  whom  from  that  time  forward, 
she  was  likely^  to  hold  the  most  confidential  spirit- 
ual correspondence.  His  high  and  decided  views 
of  doctrinal  truth,  were  likely  to  meet  with  all 
sympathy  in  the  first  fervour  of  the  new-born  soul 
whose  history  was  a  confirmation  of  all  that  he 
believed  and  taught.  Perhaps  he  preserved  her 
letters ;  if  so,  they  will  be  the  best  witnesses  to  the 
truth  of  the  present  statement.  Private  letters  are 
of  all  documents  the  most  veritable  of  that  which 
they  disclose  of  the  character  of  the  writer.  While 
every  other  testimony  is  but  the  portrait,  which 
may  or  may  not  be  like  ;  they  are  the  cast  ex- 
actly moulded  on  the  living  form.  If  there  be 
such  letters,  they  should  be  here  inserted. 


CONVERSION.  79 

Having  no  religious  friends,  it  is  improbable  her 
feelings  should  be  disclosed   to  any  by  letter  but 

her   brother,    and    those    sisters,    M ,  L , 

A ,  who  were  already   members  with  her  in 

the  body  of  Christ ;  but  separated,  as  she  thinks, 
at  that  time,  from  her.  Hard,  sterile,  and  unpro- 
ductive was  the  soil  on  which  the  precious  seed 
had  thus  been  sown  ;  the  perfecting  of  Jehovah's 
work  will  be  scarcely  less  wonderful  when  we 
come  to  tell  it,  than  its  beginning.  Caroline  never 
changed  her  faith,  or  revoked  the  profession  of  it ; 
she  never  changed  her  purpose,  she  never  let  go 
the  death-grasp  she  had  taken  on  the  cross  of 
Christ;  there  was  no  season  when  that  once  ab- 
horred name  was  not  music  in  her  ears,  and  balm 
upon  her  lips;  but  she  was  a  graceless,  senseless, 
and  unruly  child  to  her  heavenly  Father,  as  she 
had  been  to  all  others ;  and  many,  many  were  the 
years  before  she  or  any  one  else  could  find  the 
fruits  of  holiness,  on  that  wild  olive-branch,  en- 
grafted as  it  was  in  the  pure  stem.  It  bears  them 
scarcely  still;  we  will  hereafter  tell  it  all.  Suffice 
it  now,  to  say,  that  the  most  immediate  result  of 
Caroline's  change  of  heart,  was,  the  happiness  to 
which  it  had  at  once  restored  her;  at  peace  with 
God,  she  made  up  her  quarrel  with  all  things. 
The  zest  of  life  returned;  she  no  longer  quarrelled 
with  her  destiny,  or  felt  distaste  of  all  her  pursuits, 
or  grew  weary  of  her  existence  without  any 
reason.  The  void  was  filled,  she  never  after 
wanted  something  to  do,  or  something  to  love,  or 


gO  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

something  to  look  forward  to  ;  the  less  there  was 
of  earth,  the  more  there  was  of  heaven,  in  her 
vision  ;  whenever  man  failed  her,  Christ  took  her 
up.  She  had  no  more  stagnant  waters,  long  as 
her  voyage  was  through  troubled  ones;  she  was, 
with  all  the  leaven  of  the  older  nature  that  remain- 
ed, essentially  a  new  creature  to  herself. 

And  Fanny — what  more  of  her?  We  will  tell 
all  hereafter;  unconscious  instrument  of  all  that 
God  was  doing,  she  disbelieved  the  work  she  had 
performed.  Removal  separated  the  friends,  but 
for  very  many  years  did  not  divide  their  hearts ; 
they  were  still  dearest  of  all  things  to  each  other, 
but  we  must  tell  it  here,  for  it  proves  the  work  of 
God.  As  the  vital  principle  developed  itself  in 
Caroline,  Fanny  took  offence  at  it.  When  Caro- 
line wrote  her  a  distinct  statement  of  the  change 
her  own  letter  had  been  the  means  of  effecting, 
Fanny  laughed  at  it.  She  did  not  believe  in  con- 
version, in  regeneration  of  the  Spirit,  or  anything 
of  the  sort.  She  even  said,  her  father  held  such 
doctrines,  but  she  did  not  know  how  she  had  es- 
caped the  infection  of  his  fanaticism  ;  whenever 
the  subject  was  resumed  in  their  letters,  it  was  an 
occasion  of  difference  and  dissatisfaction.  They 
never  met  again,  till  an  event  occurred  which 
proved  that  Fanny's  heart  was  as  diverse  from 
her  friend's  for  this  world  as  it  was  for  the  next; 
that  her  denunciations  of  this  life  had  been  as  little 
real  as  her  early  anticipations  of  another;  the 
world  might  have  her  back  if  it  wrould  give  the 


CONVERSION.  81 

price.  Fanny  contracted  a  marriage,  in  a  world- 
ly point  of  view  advantageous,  but  the  sympathy 
that  had  seemed  to  bind  the  friends  together  was 
now  dissolved;  and  every  feeling  they  had  in  com- 
mon proved  to  be,  on  Fanny's  part,  and  by  her 
own  acknowledgment,  as  merely  sentimental  as 
Caroline  believes  her  religion  was.  Caroline  wit- 
nessed the  transaction,  and  parted  with  her  friend 
for  ever,  with  a  heart  wrung  with  pain ;  several 
years  longer,  the  form  of  friendship  was  kept  up 
by  letter,  but  the  life  was  gone,  the  death-blow 
was  struck.  Once  only  again  Caroline  saw  what 
had  been  the  idol  of  her  affections;  it  was  not  the 
thing  that  she  had  loved,  or  that  she  ever  could 
love.  Caroline  herself  was  changed,  and  perhaps 
was  as  distasteful  to  her  friend.  Fanny,  the  intel- 
lectual, studious,  poetic,  religious  girl,  was  .... 
if  we  survive  her,  we  will  tell  what  she  was,  and 
who  she  is ;  if  not,  she  will  read  this,  and  she 
knows.  A  very  short  time  after  Caroline  had 
visited  her  for  the  first  time,  and  the  last  time,  in 
her  married  home,  a  few  unpleasant  letters  having 
been  exchanged  on  the  subject  of  religion,  too 
vehement  most  likely  on  the  ©ne  side,  too  scoffing 
and  contemptuous  on  the  other,  the  discussion 
reached  its  extremity;  and  Caroline,  with  that  too 
hasty  warmth,  that  has  left  so  many  things  to  re- 
gret that  cannot  be  undone,  desired  that  their  cor- 
respondence should  cease.  It  ceased,  and  they 
are  strangers. 

May  eternal  mercy  grant  to  Fanny,  the  bless- 
ing she  transmitted,  and  yet  despised. 


LETTERS. 


LETTERS. 

I.— TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  FRY. 

Hastings,  May  19,  1825. 

My  dear  Brother, 
I   answer  your  letter  something  quicker  than 
else  I  might,  to  tell  you  that  a  few  days  before  I 

received  it,  I  heard  that  Mr.  ,  of  Edinburgh, 

wanted  just  such   a  curate   as  you   describe,   to 

succeed   Mr.  ;   I  shall  subjoin  the  address, 

and  your  friend  can  apply  if  he  pleases.  I  am 
just  returned  to  my  solitary  home,  and  my  goods 
being  yet  in  their  packages,  I  cannot  even  get  at 
your  letter  to  reply  to  it.  What  I  imperfectly 
remember  of  its  contents,  is  something  about  my 
own  enigmas  and  something  about  the  world's. 
And  I  remember  thinking  while  I  read  it,  how 
different  an  aspect  every  thing  must  be  seen  in 
from  the  hallowed  stillness  of  your  secluded  dwell- 
ing, from  that  in  which  it  presents  itself  to  me. 
And  I  longed  to  sit  down  with  you  in  that  tall 
8 


gQ  LETTERS. 

arm-chair,  and  Munchausen-like,  tell  of  the  won- 
ders I  had  seen.  But  how,  at  this  distance,  am  I 
to  sketch  for  you  the  features  of  that  world  of 
which  you  inquire — the  religious  world.  Who- 
ever used  that  expression  first,  did  not  suspect  that 
he  described  the  thing  it  stands  for,  more  exactly 
than  if  he  had  written  volumes.  The  last  term  is 
that  our  Lord  has  chosen  to  designate  his  ene- 
mies ;  the  first  is  that  which  distinguishes  his 
friends;  the  both  together  is  that  strange  admix- 
ture which  is  the  distinguishing  character  of  the 
present  day.  I  suppose  you  will  not  understand 
me  now,  any  better  than  when  I  said, — It  is  time 
to  cease  from  man.  Well  then,  can  you  not  ima- 
gine how  a  person  going  always  behind  the  scenes 
to  see  how  the  thing  is  got  up,  and  to  see  the 
dramatis  persona?  disrobe  themselves,  &c.  &c, 
might  grow  very  weary  of  scenic  representations? 
But  this  is  myself  again,  and  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  of  the  world — few  people  can  see  so  much  of 
it  really  as  I  do — because  I  hold  no  settled  rank 
in  it,  and  move  in  no  determinate  sphere.  One 
day  the  splendid  carriage  dashes  up  to  fetch  me, 
with  two  footmen  to  bang  down  the  steps,  lest  one 
should  not  make  noise  enough:  the  next  day  I 
trudge  off  in  the  mud  with  my  bookseller's  appren- 
tice to  carry  my  bundles;  sometimes  I  am  every- 
body, and  sometimes  I  am  nobody,  and  I  am 
equally  amused  with  all  ;  for  all  is  life,  and  all  is 
nature,  and  all  lets  me  into  secrets  that  those  who 
walk  a  more  settled  and  determined  course  but 


LETTERS. 


87 


little  wot  of;  and  I  note  everything,  and  listen  to 
everything,  and  lav  it  all  up  for  future  cogitation. 
And  many  a  smile  I  have  in  private,  aye,  and 
many  a  sigh  too,  at  the  charlatanage  of  the  de- 
luding world.  In  respect  to  its  present  state,  I 
should  say  nay  to  what  you  say,  as  it  regards  the 
taste  of  the  public  for  religious  truth.  I  should 
certify  on  no  light  grounds,  that  the  defection  lies 
elsewhere;  there  is  appetite  for  the  whole  counsel 
of  God,  but  they  w7ho  are  left  in  charge,  have 
found  in  their  wisdom  that  the  food  is  not  whole- 
some, and  they  dare — I  speak  strongly,  for  I  have 
felt  it  strongly — even  to  tears;  I  have  felt  it  under 
their  pulpits — they  dare  deny  it  to  the  flock  they 
have  been  sent  to  feed.  Comes  there  a  man  in 
town  or  country,  or  on  week-day  or  Sunday,  who 
in  simplicity  delivers  the  whole  of  his  message, 
and  you  will  see  how  they  throng  his  aisles,  how 
they  will  steal  forth  like  Nicodemus  by  night,  to 
take  of  the  desired  but  forbidden  draught, —  afraid 
to  be  blamed  by  their  ghostly  confessors  if  they 
are  detected.  Look  at  their  faces  while  they  lis- 
ten to  the  unusual  strain,  and  you  will  soon  see  if 
it  be  not  welcome.  Ask  them  when  they  go 
away,  how  they  like  it?  They  will  speak  of  it  as 
children  of  a  birth-day  treat — which  to  be  sure  if 
they  had  it  often  might  disagree  with  them — so 
they  are  taught,  so  they  believe:  but  they  can 
relish  it  well  enough.  I  do  not  speak  of  one  class, 
or  of  two  classes;  I  believe  this  to  be  the  general 
aspect  of  things.     I  can  set  my  eye  on  one  pew, 


88 


LETTERS. 


and  say  these  people  are  of  such  a  congregation 
— and  on  another,  and  say  these  belong  to  such  a 
chapel— and  why  are  they  all  come  here?  And 
many  are  the  times  I  have  whispered  in  the  ear 
of  those  who  sit  satisfied,  nay,  absurdly  devoted  to 
some  favourite  preacher  of  a  garbled  truth,  that 
there  is  more  behind,  and  have  been  surprised  to 
find  how  well  they  knew  it,  how  much  they  could 
like  to  have  it — but  it  is  not  good  for  them  !  The 
servant  has  grown  wiser  than  his  master;  the 
messenger  can  amend  his  message — God  can  no 
more  be  trusted  with  the  salvation  of  his  people — 
Man  knows  a  better  way,  and  expediency  is  like  to 
become  ihe  Anti-christ  of  our  land.  You  question 
my  term  "  magnificent  preaching" — "  Why  not  as 
well  without  the  pomp?"  you  say.  Our  powers 
are  of  God;  and  if  he  have  given  the  graceful 
mien — the  deep-toned  voice,  and  the  overwhelm- 
ing impulse  of  exalted  feeling,  and  the  resistless 
burst  of  eloquence,  which  in  Athens  held  the  lives 
of  men,  and  in  Rome  the  fate  of  nations,  at  its 
pleasure,  to  be  the  companions  of  his  grace  and 
truth,  imparted  to  the  minister  of  his  Gospel,  shall 
we  say  that  they  are  useless?  I  wot  not:  though 
I  would  not  over-value  them.     The  great  Lion  of 

the  day  is ;  a  man  of  most  amazing  powers 

of  oratory:  a  person  of  taste,  who  did  not  like  re- 
ligion at  all,  might  listen  to  him  with  rapture,  for 
the  thing  is  perfect  in  its  kind.  The  Christian  who 
cared  not  for  eloquence  at  all,  might  listen  with 
equal   satisfaction — for   he  delivers   his   message 


LETTERS.  gg 

fully,   boldly,  aye,   and    simply  too,  with   all    his 
oratory;   for  the  wisdom  of  man  is  not  mixed  up 
with  it.     Then  there  is  Irving,  new  to  me,  though 
passed  the  meridian  of  popularity.     If  ever  you 
could  conceive  John  Knox — if  ever  you  pictured 
to    yourself   a    blood-hot    covenanter,   preaching 
three  hours  together  on  the  field  of  battle,  with  a 
highland  blade  in  his  girdle,  and  a  bugle  at  his 
back,  as  willing  to  slay  as  he  was  to  save;  as  will- 
ing to  die,  as  he  was  to  preach  ;  fancy  all  this,  and 
you  have  the  man.     But  you  cannot  fancy  it  till 
you  have  seen  Irving — I   never   could,  but  now  I 
see  it  all.     It  was  to  me  such  a  realization  of  ima- 
gination's dreams,  that  when  I  heard  him   first  I 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  exclamation,  so  much 
did  it  seize  on  my  poetic  fancy.     Common  sense 
tells   one,  that   to  a  chapel  full  of  Holborn  shop- 
keepers this  is  not  the  thing — and  right  feeling  tells 
one,  that  this  sort  of  excitation,  under  a  sermon,  is 
not  to  be  allowed — and   so  I  went  no  more:  but 
knowing  what  it  is,  I  would  have  gone  from  Lon-  . 
don  to  Edinburgh  to  have  heard  it  once.     At  one 
of  the  great  meetings,  where  he  got  up  to  make  a 
speech,  no  longer  restrained  by  the  feeling  that  the 
gratification  was  out  of  place,  I  did  really  jump 
off  my  seat  and  clap   my  hands  for  joy — but  one 
need   be  a  poet  to  understand   all  this.     Dear  old 
Mr.  Wilkinson   still  holds  his  post;   the  still  small 
voice  of  truth  sounding  as  it  were  from  out  some 
holy  recess,  where  the  tumult,  and  the  cavil,  and 

the  disputation,  are  unheard  or  unregarded.     You 

8* 


90  LETTERS. 

read  his  name  in  no  printed  lists — you  see  him  in 
no  strange  pulpit — you  hear  of  him  in  no  company 
— but  go  to  his  church,  and  there  you  find  him, 
the  same  words  ever  in  his  mouth — the  words  are 
few,  and  the  ideas  few,  and  there  is  little  variety 
in  either.     He  controverts  no  man's  doctrines,  he 
takes  note  of  no  popular  wrongs  or  rights,  he  is 
like  one  who  neither  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  knows 
what  is  around  him,  he  comes  blindfold  from  his 
closet  to  his  pulpit,  to  tell  in  one,-  what  he  has 
learned  in  the  other — the  most  secret,  the  most 
mysterious,  the  most  precious  purposes  of  God  to 
his  own  elected  people:  a  tale  with  which  none 
else  can  have  to  do,  and  which  none  else  can  un- 
derstand.  *•#.#*    The  man  with  whom,  were  I 
resident  in  London,  I  should  probably  settle  down 
as  my  regular  minister,  is  Mr.  Hovvells,  of  Long 
Acre,  a  Welchman;  not  because  he  is  better  than 
some    others    I   have   named,  but   because  some 
preaching  is  good  to  one  cast  of  mind,  and  some 
to  another;  and  amid  the  much  I  have  heard  since 
I  have  been  now  in  town,  I  am  inclined  to  think  I 
should    be,  on  the   long  run,   most  benefited    by 
his.     Howells  has  not  a  large  congregation,  but 
a   very  peculiar  one — T  should   say  he   puts  his 
lingers  into  other  men's  gardens,  and  carries  off 
the  fruit  as  it  ripens — not  in  crowds,  but   here 
and  there  one.     Popular  he  cannot  be,  because 
he  is  above  the  reach  of  the  untutored  mind,  and 
above  the  taste  of  the  vulgar  mind.     I  never  saw 
a   congregation  in  which  the  proportion  of  men 


LETTERS.  gj 

was  so  large,  which  it  is  easy  to  account  for.  He 
takes  the  learned  of  our  religious  world,  but  not  till 
the  whole  counsel  of  God  has  become  acceptable 
to  them ;  for  there  is  no  equivocation  with  him. 
These  are  the  luminaries  of  London.  Others 
there  are,  the  favourites  of  a  corner,  the  Popes  of 
a  set — some  true  to  what  they  know,  but  knowing 
little — some  knowing  all,  but  proudly  withholding 
it  on  their  own  authority.     *  *  *  I  spent  a  week 

at where holds  the  cure  of  20,000  souls. 

The  religious  few  who  for  years  have  been  ex- 
pecting anxiously  his  coming,  are  all  forsaking  his 
church,  while  the  worldly  sit  under  him  at  ease. 
When  questioned  as  to  his  faithfulness,  he  replies, 
that  in  two  years  he  will  preach  otherwise,  but 
the  people  are  not  ready  for  it !  What  an  awful 
responsibility!  So  much  for  preachers — but  what 
are  the  hearers  doing,  you  will  ask — Who  would 
not  live  in  these  days,  to  see  two  thousand  saints 
at  a  time  in  Freemason's  Hall,  and  all  so  occupied 
that  they  can  sit  patiently  seven  hours  a  day ! 
Could  the  Christians  of  the  days  of  Paul  rise  from 
their  graves  to  see,  how  would  they  recognise 
their  despised  race  amid  the  tramping  of  horses, 
and  locking  of  chariot-w7heels,  and  thronging  of 
fine-dressed  ladies,  fain  to  leave  their  beds  some 
hours  earlier  than  they  are  wront,  in  the  hope  to 
get  a  seat.  Placed  in  these  scenes  for  the  first 
time,  many  and  curious  wrere  the  thoughts  that 
came  across  me.  I  thought  of  the  caverns  in 
which  these  despised  hid  themselves — of  the  sheep- 


92  LETTERS. 

skins  that  were  their  covering,  and  the  berries 
that  were  their  food.  And  I  said,  How  strange, 
how  wonderful  are  the  ways  of  the  Almighty! 
To  me  the  thing  was  new ;  I  had  never  seen  a 
crowd  of  that  description,  since  the  days  I  saw 
them  at  the  opera  or  in  the  ball-room,  and  whether 
it  was  the  recalled  association,  or  whether  the 
animating  bustle  had  merely  withdrawn  my  mind 
from  the  purport  of  the  thing,  I  actually  started 
when  the  language  of  religion  first  reached  me 
from  the  platform.  There  was  not  much  good 
speaking,  little  tone  of  piety,  but  most  fulsome 
praises  of  each  other.  I  remained  discomforted 
and  went  away  dissatisfied.  This  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  case  the  second  time.  It  was  for  the 
Jews — the  children  of  the  school  were  present.  I 
cannot  tell  you  all  I  felt  or  all  I  thought  while  I 
looked  at  them.  The  helpless  offspring  of  God's 
chosen  people,  sitting  there  as  supplicants  to  the 
bounty  of  that  gay  Gentile  crowd.  Here  all  the 
poety  of  my  feelings  was  awakened,  many  good 
things  were  spoken,  and  I  was  very  much  delight- 
ed. Next  came  the  Hibernian — see  what  a  de- 
voted saint  lam  become  !  There  I  went  too,  and 
I  was  pleased  again,  for  I  love  the  Irish  to  my 
heart,  and  the  first  feeling  of  incongruity  was  en- 
tirely over  now.  I  had  gotten  into  the  full  spirit 
of  the  thing.  An  old  lady,  deep  in  these  matters, 
who  sat  beside  me,  said  a  thing  that  struck  me. 
She  was  complaining  of  Irving's  impolitic  speech 
— I  said,  "  It  seems   to   me  he  is  the  only  man 


LETTERS.  93 

amongst  them  who  has  stood  for  God,  and  for  his 
truth."  She  replied  angrily,  "  What  is  the  use  of 
that?  They  come  to  speak  for  the  interests  of 
the  Society."  I  said  no  more,  but  I  laid  up  the 
speech  to  think  upon.  What  he  had  said  really 
was  a  magnificent  warning  to  the  children  of  God, 
when  the  children  *of  men  come  in  to  join  them- 
selves to  their  counsels — as  fine  a  charge  as  ever 
I  heard;  placing  a  child  of  God  on  such  a  proud 
pre-eminence,  that  the  great  ones  of  earth  seemed 
to  dwindle  into  nothing  as  he  spoke.  The  Lords 
and  Right  Honourables  looked  a  little  uneasy. 

The  last  I  went  to  was  the  Naval  and  Military 
— interesting  from  its  peculiarity.  Here  more  of 
the  language  of  scripture  was  used  than  in  the 
others ;  more  mention  was  made  of  the  Gospel  of 
Christ,  and  more  use  of  its  words  and  doctrines — 
and  the  speeches  came  not  from  the  church,  but 
for  the  most  part  from  the  soldier  or  the  sailor. 
So  much  for  my  devotions  through  the  first  week 
in  May.  What  have  I  brought  home  with  me 
from  it  all?  It  is  fine,  it  is  striking,  it  is  interest- 
ing, and  more  so  than  I  thought  before  I  went. 
The  purpose  is  good,  the  means  seems  to  be  legiti- 
mate, and  the  end  must  surely  be  what  heaven 
designs  by  this  strange  change  of  circumstances. 
Well  then,  let  it  go  on,  and  I  would  aid  it  heartily. 
But  I  have  brought  away  this — religion  is  not  the 
popular  oratory — religion  is  not  the  crowded  hall 
— religion  is  not  the  printed  list.  The  children  of 
God   have  need  indeed  to  be  warned,  and  if  it 


94  LETTERS. 

pleases  God,  those  words  of  Irving's  shall  go  with 
me  to  be  remembered  whithersoever  I  am  bound. 
And  so  much,  my  dear  brother,  for  the  sketch  of 
London.  Now  of  ourselves.  You  must  pay  double 
postage,  but  never  mind,  you  may  not  get  another 
letter  for  a  twelvemonth.  I  have  not  read  your 
Church  History,  but  have  it  ready  to  read.  I  only 
reached  home  two  days  since.     I  know  not  what 

to  say  to  V ;  I  hear  strange  things  about  him. 

I  have  no  objection  to  subscribe  to  his  work;  but 
must  see  it  before  I  recommend  it  to  others.  It 
was  not  true  that  I  was  worn  with  labour,  but  I 
was  worn  with  bustle,  too  much  eagerness,  too 
much  excitement.  I  must  be  quieter.  Little  do 
you  dusty  commentators  know  how  we  poets  live 
and  feel.  I  have  just  now  found  your  letter.  Why 
yes — we  are  tired  of  disputing  about  predestina- 
tion— and  as  to  the  Second  Advent,  we  think  it  is 
no  business  of  ours  !  We  had  rather  talk  of  Sierra 
Leone,  and  the  Catholic  Bill,  and  East  India  Sugar. 
Aye,  truly,  I  shall  enjoy  your  Job,  but  I  have  no 
light  upon  it,  except  that  a  friend  of  mine  says  that 
Job  could  not  be  happy  in  the  end,  if  he  had  the 
same  wife  !  *  *  *  I  do  not  despair  to  see  Desford 
again  some  time.  Love  to  all  the  party.  I  wish 
I  had  met  John  in  town.  After  a  most  tremen- 
dous conflict,  such  as  you  would  wonder  to  hear 
about,  I  trust  that  the  dawn  is  again  breaking  upon 
me.  Some  time  I  may  tell  it  all,  but  not  now. 
Yours  affectionately, 

Caroline. 


LETTER3.  95 

II.— TO  MRS.  *  *  *. 

November  6,  1825. 

Dear  Thing,* 

I  am  always  pleased  to  see  your  little  notes,  but 
this  is  a  bad  account  you  give  of  yourself:  still  I 
think  that  beautiful  sea  will  do  you  more  good 
than  advice  here.  I  believe  I  ought  to  have  ac- 
knowledged your  remittance,  but  I  did  not  come 
home  that  day  till  late,  and  calculated  a  letter 
would  not  arrive  in  *  #  *  till  you  were  gone.  I 
have  been  thinking  to  send  a  note  thither  for  the 
chance  of  a  parcel. 

Now  you  bid  me  write  by  post.  I  suppose  you 
must  be  obeyed,  otherwise  I  am  in  that  sort  of 
mood  in  which  I  seldom  allow  myself  to  write; 
lest  I  should  get  into  a  tone  of  sadness,  too  nearly 
approaching  to  discontent,  to  become  a  child  of 
God.  These  are  feelings  I  attribute  greatly  to 
indisposition ;  and  the  indisposition  greatly  to  the 
weather;  of  this  one  is  guiltless,  and  there  is  no 
remedy  but  patience.  It  is,  however,  difficult, 
when  one  has  cause  of  sadness,  to  distinguish  one 
thing  from  another,  and  to  be  sure  whether  one  is 
ill,  or  miserable,  or  wicked ;  and  when  once  the 

*  This  Lady,  a  few  years  younger  than  the  writer,  was 
her  most  beloved  friend,  with  whom  for  twenty  years  she 
was  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy. 


gg  LETTERS. 

scale  is  bearing  downwards,  both  sorrow  and  sin 
are  ready  to  throw  in  their  rnake-weights  of  sad- 
ness.    I  have  been  very  well  till  the  last  week, 
however,  and  trust  it  may  please  God  I  shall  soon 
be  so  again.     The  incapacity  for  employment  is 
what  I  suffer  most  from  on  these  occasions.     I 
thank  you,  dear,  for  the  inclosure,  and  for  its  ma- 
chinery.    It  does  its  duty  well,  and  is  very  useful 
to  me.     I  am  in  all  such  matters  now  very  com- 
fortable, and  for  accommodation  desire  nothing 
better.     I  shall  be  very  glad  when  you  come  back, 
for  though  I  shall  not  very  often  see  you,  I  shall 
be  at  liberty  to  think  perhaps  you  will  come,  and 
that  is  something.     It  has  been  said,  He  that  mul- 
tiplieth  riches  increaseth  sorrow,  and  as  friends 
are  part  and  portion  of  this  world's  good,  I  believe 
the  more  we  have,  and  the  more  we  love  them,  the 
readier  access  has  disappointment  to  our  hearts. 
But  we  must  not  be  ungrateful;  we  must  pick  the 
beautiful  flowers  He  scatters  on  our  way,  and  not 
be  impatient  that  now  and  then  from  too  much 
eagerness  we  prick  our  fingers.     I  do  sometimes 
wish  my  heart  were  as  hard  as  a  millstone,  but  I 
think  it  is  a  wicked  feeling,  and  never  encourage 
it.     Among  many  things  that  teaze  me  now,  is  my 
publication ;  I  want  to  give  it  up  because  it  is  too 
much  for  my  health,  and  have  always  intended  to 
do  so  at  Christmas.     But  my  publisher  is  outrage- 
ous, he  positively  will  not  stop.     I  know  not  what 
to  do  for  the  best :  but  I  trust  that  God  will  guide 
me.     I  wish  only  to  do  His  will,  could  I  know  but 


LETTERS.  QJ 

what  it  is.  If  the  work  were  His,  I  should  be  ill- 
disposed  to  stop  it,  but  I  do  feel  unequal  to  its 
task  ;  and  surely  if  He  takes  away  my  strength,  he 
means  me  not  to  continue  the  undertaking.  Let 
me  have  another  little  note  from  you  some  day, 
dear,  to  tell  me  that  you  are  better.  I  am  think- 
ing of  going  to at  the  end  of  the  month ;  but 

am  not  certain :  and  only  for  a  week  or  ten  days. 
God  bless  you,  dear,  do  not  leave  off  loving  me 
because  it  teazes  you  sometimes:  it  is  not  wasted 
on  me,  at  least  without  return. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Fry. 


Ill— TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  FRY. 

*  *  *  1825. 

My  Dear  Brother, 
If  I  were  to  date  my  letter  from  the  comet,  I 
suppose  you  know  me  too  well  to  be  surprised.  I 
never  write  to  you  in  a  common  way,  because  it  is 
of  no  use,  and  everything  with  me  now  is  questioned 
upon  the  cui  bono,  if  it  asks  for  time.  But  when  I 
take  a  new  peep  into  this  old  world,  I  feel  impel- 
led to  send  you  news  of  it.  So  here  I  am — 
stumbled  on  a  visit  to  *  *  *  whose  name  cannot 
be  strange  to  you.  *  *  *  How  I  came  here,  mat- 
9 


98 


LETTERS. 


ters  not  much.  I  have  been  with  them  five  or  six 
weeks,  and  am  soon  to  return  home.  *  #  *  These 
people  are  most  deeply  interesting;  just  in  that 
state  in  which  one  looks  fearfully  towards  heaven 
to  ask  what  it  intends  for  them.  All  respect  for 
established  things  gone;  the  bridle  of  prejudice 
broken — the  deep  truth  of  metaphysical  scrutiny 
read  to  the  bottom  ;  the  feelings  exhausted  by  over 
action  ;  and  the  conscience  withal  goaded  into  an 
almost  morbid  sensibility,  ashamed  of  the  past,  and 
bewildered  forthe  present,  and  vaguely  anxious  for 
the  future.  It  seems  to  me  that  they  know  not 
what  they  mean,  nor  what  they  believe — some- 
times I  tremble  for  them  as  upon  the  point  of 
making  their  peace  with  the  world  under  whose 
lash  they  are  writhing,  by  giving  in  to  its  habits 
and  practices,  and  hiding  their  principles  in  their 
own  bosoms.  At  other  times  the  genuine  seed  of 
gospel  truth  seems  to  be  so  surely  in  their  bosom, 
that  I  think  they  will  settle  into  humble,  subdued, 
and  devoted  Christians.  I  cannot  get  at  them. 
At  one  time  I  hear  them  pronounce  the  Calvinistic 
doctrines  to  be  dangerous,  and  always  tending  to 
carelessness  of  life — alas  !  they  may  have  seen 
cause  to  think  so — at  another  time  they  betray  by 
some  casual  expressions,  that  its  deepest  secrets 
are  in  fact  the  strong-hold  of  their  faith.  If  we 
hear  a  strong  doctrinal  sermon,  and  I  say  I  like  it, 
they  say  they  do  not;  but  I  can  perceive  that  they 
do !  The  most  interesting  person  I  have  seen  is 
*  *  Of  him  I  should  say,  that  if  ever  I  have  seen 


LETTERS.  99 

a  humbled,  subdued,  heart-broken,  deeply-taught 
christian,  it  is  he.  I  was  but  once  in  his  company, 
but  there  was  something  that  responded  to  my 
own  feelings  in  all  he  said  and  in  all  he  looked, 
that  I  scarcely  can  explain  or  account  for ;  and 
once  I  heard  him  preach,  and  felt  the  same.  Of 
hirn  I  should  not  hesitate  to  say,  he  is  come  out  of 
the  fire  purified.  Of  #  *  *  I  know  not  what  to 
say:  he  is  such  a  superior  being,  in  intellect,  in  ac- 
quired knowledge,  in  goodness,  in  conscientious- 
ness, in  humility,  in  everything  that  is  beautiful. 
I  want  to  say  the  same  thing  of  him  ;  but  then  if  I 
talk  with  him,  he  seems  or  affects  to  know  nothing. 
I  spoke  of  the  sinfulness  of  sin  :  he  said  he  did  not 
know  what  it  meant.  I  spoke  of  the  love  of 
God  in  redemption, — he  did  not  know  what  that 
meant, — and  yet  I  verily  believe  that  he  does 
know. 

But  how  shall  I  tell  you  the  beauty  of  this  place. 
The  trees  such  as  you  never  looked  upon  ;  the  gar- 
den with  every  thing  in  it,  from  the  rarest  foreign 
plant  that  money  can  purchase,  to  the  commonest 
wild  flower  of  the  hedge,  all  botanically  arranged  ; 
and  yet  so  tastefully,  and  inartificially,  you  would 
almost  believe  they  came  there  of  themselves  ;  then 
the  library,  with  all  the  books  in  the  world,  just  to 
make  one  sad,  that  life  is  too  short  to  read  them. 
I  pass  the  interior  of  the  mansion,  because  I  care 
for  none  of  these  things.  I  love  the  comforts  and 
and  actual  enjoyments  of  life  perhaps  too  well,  but 
its  splendours  I  have  no  taste  for, though,  entrenous, 


100 


LETTERS. 


I  have  a  little  taste  for  the  productions  of  the 
French  man-cook.  This,  however,  I  at  least  shall 
learn  here,  if  I  knew  it  not  before,  which  I  believe 
I  did, — that  the  abundance  of  this  world's  goods, 
adds  little  to  the  happiness  of  its  possessors;  and 
that  I,  a  homeless,  houseless,  pennyless  creature, 
am  a  happier  being  than  *  *  *  *  with  twenty 
thousand  a  year  at  her  disposal.  And  one  of  her 
miseries  is,  that  with  all  her  means  she  cannot  get 
her  children  educated ;  and  about  this  I  must  have 
a  word  with  you.  Do  you  know  any  gentleman 
you  can  really  recommend  to  the  joint  office  of 
curate  and  tutor :  he  should  have  a  wife,  be  a 
gentleman,  and  a  scholar,  and  have  some  of  the 
qualities  of  Job  beside.  The  situation  would  be 
very  lucrative,  but  very  difficult;  a  good  house 
would  be  provided  him,  the  pupil  would  be  sent 
into  the  house  to  him,  at  a  high  rate,  and  he  would 
have  the  opportunity  of  taking  three  or  four  more. 
#  #  #  you  know  is  rector,  but  wants  help.  The 
pupil  is  a  most  desirable  one  in  himself;  I  never 
saw  a  more  pleasing  boy  ;  but,  owing  to  a  bad  con- 
stitution, the  enormous  value  set  upon  him,  and 
the  delicacy  with  which  he  has  been  reared,  and 
the  really  good  judgment  and  penetrating  intellect 
of  the  father,  and  the  womanly  feelings  of  the  mother, 
it  is  almost  impossible  for  any  one  to  give  satis- 
faction. But  with  all  this,  there  is  such  essential 
kindness,  benevolence,  and  liberality,  that  it  is 
quite  sad  that  there  should  be  nobody  with  sense 
enough,  and  Christian  forbearance  enough,  to  over- 
come  a   few    peculiarities  and    difficulties,    and 


LETTERS. 


101 


gratefully  and  faithfully  to  perform  the  duties 
required,  for  which  they  care  not  what  they  pay. 
The   boy  now  costs  them   about  £400   a  year,   at 

Mr. 's  ;   and  they   are    wretched    about  the 

distance,  and  the  treatment.  I  verily  believe  that 
if  the  living  were  at  this  moment  vacated  they 
would  give  it  you,  or  anybody  else  who  would 
preach  the  truth,  and  educate  their  boy.  They 
asked  me  if  you  would  take  the  curacy,  and  hold 
it  with  your  living,  residing  here.  I  said,  No,  I 
do  not  think  he  would.  Do  not  speak  of  this  out 
of  doors,  but  if  you  have  any  one  to  recommend, 
write  to  me  directly,  and  as  I  shall  leave  here  on 
Monday  next,  direct  to  me  the  following  week  at 
*  #  #  where  I  am  going  to  see  Lydia  ;  and  after 
next  week,  to  my  domicile  at  Hastings.  I  am 
once  more  very  near  changing  my  residence  to 
London;  it  depends  on  the  turn  of  a  die,  which  I 
leave  in  the  hands  of  Providence  to  throw.  I  have 
no  choice  in  it  but  to  do  His  will.  My  heart  is 
light  upon  the  weightiest  matters  when  once  I  can 
be  sure  of  my  motive  ;  that  is  seldom,  but  this  time 
I  think  I  am  sure;  the  advantages  are  so  nicely 
poised,  the  results  so  impossible  to  perceive,  that 
there  is  not  a  hair's  weight  to  turn  the  scale,  but 
what  seems  to  affect  my  spiritual  welfare,  always 
deteriorating  in  my  present  residence.  In  this  in- 
clination I  may  err  ;  therefore  simply  and  heartily 
I  leave  it  for  the  decision  of  heaven.  How,  I 
have  no  room  to  explain  ;  but  if  I  change,  you  will 
hear  of  it  after  Christmas  ;  it  will  be  to  live  some- 
9* 


102  LETTERS. 

where  in  London.     Love  to  dear  Martha,  and  all 
the  family,  whom  some  time  I  hope  to  see  again. 
Affectionately  yours, 

C.  Fry. 


IV.— TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  FRY. 

London,  1826. 

My  Dear  Brother, 
I  have  much  less  communication  with  you  than 
I  wish,  but  I  am  so  overwhelmed  I  know  not  how 
to  help  it.  Many  times  a  day  things  occur  of  which 
I  say  to  myself,  "  I  should  like  to  tell  John  this;" 
but  I  am  busy  and  they  pass.  Your  domestic  suf- 
ferings too,  have  perhaps  lessened  your  immediate 
interest  in  passing  things;  and  I  have  felt  it  would 
be  ill-timed  to  tell  you  anything  of  myself  or  of  the 
world.  Do  not  think  I  have  taken  no  part  in  your 
family  interests.  I  was  thinking  of  writing  to  you 
about  the  girls  in  particular,  but  the  sound  reached 
me  of  schemes  in  hand,  and  I  thought  I  had  per- 
haps better  mind  my  business,  and  wait  till  I  was 
consulted.  Now  I  know  all  from  Lydia,  and  do 
trust  that  providence  has  devised  the  scheme,  and 
will  perfect  it  to  good.  For  myself,  I  am  going 
to  say  nothing,  because  I  have  too  much  to  say. 
If  ever  I  see  you  again,  I  may  say  it  all.  Should 
I  ever  have  courage  to  tell  the  whole  of  my  spirit- 


LETTERS.  IQ3 

ual  story,  I  believe  it  will  be  a  picture  such  as  has 
been  rarely  drawn.  Suffice  it  now  to  say,  God  is 
all  truth,  all  love,  all  wonder,  overwhelming  won- 
der. Years  now  have  gone  wearily  over,  since 
one  bright  beam  has  been  upon  my  bosom  ;  the 
hold  I  have  maintained  has  been  upon  a  twig  that 
seemed  withering  in  my  hand,  every  moment  ready 
to  break  and  leave  me  to  destruction.  I  have  look- 
ed about,  but  there  was  none  to  help ;  I  have  wait- 
ed, and  it  is  come  back ;  and  my  bosom  is  too  nar- 
row to  hold  the  happiness  that  has  come  into  it. 
And  this  is  all  now ;  I  will  tell  you  more  hereafter. 
I  am  requested  to  send  you  the  enclosed.  Have 
you  heard  that  we  are  all  in  an  uproar  about  the 
second  Advent?  If  so,  you  must  be  curious  to 
hear  more;  they  started  it  at  the  Jewish  anniver- 
sary; but  at  the  Continental  Society  it  was  a  con- 
certed thing;  they  embodied  it  in  their  motions, 
and  identified  it  with  their  society.  As  you  will 
have  all  the  Sermons  and  Reports,  I  need  not  tell 
you  the  nature  of  them  ;  but  we  are  all  wild  about 
it;  and  there  will  be  a  battle  as  fierce,  if  not  as  fa- 
tal, as  Armageddon  itself.  With  all  my  heart  I 
wish  your  sober  head  had  been  amongst  them,  for 
though  I  love  the  subject,  I  fear  the  party.  There 
is  #  #  *  #  a  most  exalted  and  devoted  creature ;  his 
bosom  bursting  with  love  to  God  and  man;  but  the 
veriest  lunatic  out  of  Bedlam.  Then  my  poor 
friend  *  #  *  whose  past  excesses  and  present  defec- 
tions, his  indiscretion,  and  versatility,  bring  mis- 
chief upon  every  cause  he  meddles  with,  though 


104 


LETTERS. 


he  never  means  but  right;  and  then  *  *  #  the  most 
splendid  and  wildest  genius  enthusiasm  ever  light- 
ed, all  boldness,  truth,  and  zeal,  but  rash,  confident, 
unchastened  by  experience,  and  hurried  on  by  po- 
pularity. And  last,  though  in  honour  he  should  be 
first,  there  is  the  Presbyter — my  only  hope  is  in 
his  massy  brain  ;  but,  alas,  men  go  mad  with  too 
much  brain,  as  often  as  with  too  little.  And  so 
they  are  off,  the  sails  are  swelled  with  talent  and 
popularity,  but  I  fear  there  is  no  ballast  in  their 
hold.  I  wish  I  may  be  wrong.  They  are  deter- 
mined to  proclaim  the  immediate  coming  of  the 
Lord  in  glory,  to  the  world  in  general,  nolens  vo- 
lens ;  and  to  the  Jews  in  particular,  their  immediate 
restoration.  They  are  extremely  happy  to  pro- 
duce your  interpretation  of  Greek  and  Hebrew, 
and  I  imagine  you  will  find  an  increase  of  notice 
of  your  work;  but  in  the  interpretation  of  passing 
events  they  outrun  you  far.  I  scarcely  yet  know 
what  to  think  of  them.  I  fear  the  beautiful  subject 
they  advocate  will  be  identified  with  a  party,  and 
wrecked  by  their  violence.  #  *  *'s  piety  and  sense 
is  all  my  hope.  And  after  all,  if  it  is  indeed  the 
Lord  who  has  awakened  them  to  announce  His 
coming  steps,  we  have  nothing  to  fear  for  them  or 
for  their  cause.  My  penetrating  eye  was  perhaps 
too  busy,  when,  through  a  splendid  array  of  talent 
on  the  platform,  the  heart-rejoicing  truths  they 
poured  upon  our  ears,  I  read  the  characters  of  the 
men  I  knew,  and  said  doubtingly,  "  Is  this  any- 
thing?"    I  wait  with  anxious  expectation  to  see 


LETTERS. 


105 


what  it  is.  A  party  will  soon  be  in  array  against 
them  ;  and  nothing  else  will  be  talked  of  this  year. 
Irving's  book  is  very  beautiful;  how  just  his  inter- 
pretation, time  must  reveal.  For  my  part  these 
things  have  been  so  long  the  familiar  belief  of  my 
mind,  that  I  heard  *  *  *'s  sermon  without  finding 
out  that  it  was  not  like  other  sermons,  till  1  heard 
next  day  how  much  ofTence  it  gave,  and  how 
strange  it  was.  I  should  like  to  hear  your  opinion 
of  these  spirits.  There  is  no  one  in  our  world 
now,  who  stands  so  high  in  general  estimation  as 
*  *  *,  he  has  lived  down  all  critics,  and  outstood  all 
censure.  You  have  no  idea  of  the  value  our  church- 
men have  for  him,  and  the  warmth  with  which  he 
is  looked  for,  and  received  everywhere.  I  am  a 
little  proud  of  my  discernment  in  having  liked  him 
from  the  first.  Ask  Lydia  about  him.  Among 
other  apparitions,  there  has  been  a  very  lovely  one 
in  the  form  of  a  Swiss  Malan :  I  heard  him  preach 
in  French,  a  sermon  such  as  English  ears  hear  not 
too  often.  What  amused  me,  was  to  mark  the  sa- 
tisfaction with  which  some  persons  swallowed  in 
French,  a  dose  of  Calvinism,  that  in  English  would 
have  sent  them  out  of  the  Church.  Excepting 
from  old  Wilkinson,  I  never  heard  so  exclusive  a 
sermon,  and  not  often  from  him.  It  was  plain,  his 
mind  beheld  no  unbeliever  while  he  preached.  In 
truth,  it  was  a  heavenly  morsel  to  those  he  meant 
it  for,  and  their  language  has  words  of  tender- 
ness and  love,  we  know  not  where  to  look  for  in 
our  own. 


10G 


LETTERS. 


The  inclosed  has  been  written  a  long  time,  and 
waiting  the  chance  of  a  frank.  As  it  is  exactly 
what  you  ask  for,  perhaps  I  had  better  forward  it, 
and  let  you  pay  double  postage,  which  I  cannot 
now  avoid.  It  is  a  sketch  of  the  party,  such  as 
may  help  you  to  mould  your  dealings  with  them. 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  breakfast,  nor  indeed 
did  I  know,  till  afterward,  that  the  Prophets  were 

assembled  here; is  the  very  focus  of  all  their 

machinations.  I  had  a  mind  to  tell  you  to  be 
primed  and  loaded,  in  behalf  of  these  enfans  per- 
dus,  who  are  like  to  have  no  Millennium  at  present; 
if  I  am  rightly  informed  of  the  fire  that  is  to  be 
opened  upon  them.  The  *  *  *  will  charge  furious- 
ly, out  of  spite  to  Irving,  who  has  drubbed  them 
out  of  the  pale  of  common  sense.  But  I  do  believe 
that  the  feeling  of  the  Christian  community, — I 
mean  of  those  who  commune  with  their  God  in  se- 
cret, think  of  these  things,  and  say  nothing, — is 
with  you;  and  I  cannot  help  saying  to  you,  Come 
forth  and  help  them.  Do  not  let  every  blunder- 
headed  pamphleteer,  brow-beat  and  abuse  them, 
without  a  knock  in  return.  You  will  see  my  judg- 
ment of  the  party  ;  of  the  cause  you  will  form  your 
own.  At  any  rate,  you  need  not  fear  that  the 
world  will  at  present  sleep  upon  the  question.  They 
have  immense  talent  and  popularity  on  their  side. 
I  look  upon  *  *  *  *  to  have  unlimited  powers  of 
mind,  deep  religious  experience,  with  all  the  cha- 
racters of  a  broken  and  contrite  heart,  loved  of 
God  and  accepted.     But  of  man  he  cannot  be — 


LETTERS.  207 

wild,  strange,  eccentric,  imprudent — perhaps  more 
literally  mad,  than  I  would  admit  to  an  enemy  of 
religion,  or  of  himself.  I  will  receive  Job  with 
great  pleasure.  I  do  hope  sometime  to  have  a  ho- 
liday with  you,  but  for  this  summer  I  am  disposed 
of,  there  being  a  strong  inducement  for  reasons  I 
cannot  explain,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Abbess  of 
C House,  which  will  take  me  to  Clifton  in  Au- 
gust. I  beg  you  to  be  informed  that  six  numbers  of 
my  magazine  are  ordered  monthly  for  his  Majes- 
ty's Library.  This  is  by  favour  of  the  new  bishop, 
Dr.  Sumner.  I  have  not  time  to  add  more,  but 
shall  be  happy  to  communicate  with  you  upon  all 
these  matters.  I  did  not  know  you  were  to  stay  at 
Desford.  I  have  heard  your  plans  imperfectly. 
All  is  right,  and  nothing  signifies;  it  is  gone  as  a 
tale  that  is  told. 

Affectionately, 

Caroline. 


V. TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

July  25,  1827. 

My  dear  Friexd, 

You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  await  my  answer,  to 

be  certain  that  a  request  which  comes  from  you 

will  not  be  refused.     If  it  will  please  you  so  to 

oblige  your  friend,  it  cannot  but  please  me  to  do 


]08  LETTERS. 

so  small  a  matter  for  you.  I  think,  however,  it 
must  wait  my  return.  I  can  do  it  while  I  am  with 
you  perhaps,  but  now  I  am  so  little  stationary,  I 
scarcely  know  where  I  shall  be.  I  spend  the  great- 
er part  of  my  time  in  the  open  air,  and  am  then 
too  much  fatigued  to  do  anything.  I  feel  quite 
sure,  were  I  to  let  you  send  the  books,  &c,  it 
would  be  unavailing — evening  being  the  only  time 
I  am  at  leisure,  and  that  will  not  do  for  painting. 
It  shall  be  done  to  the  best  of  my  capabilities,  on 
my  return.  I  thank  you,  dear,  I  am  as  much  bet- 
ter as  possible  in  health,  and  as  light  of  heart  as 
one  can  be  who  carries  her  greatest  care  about 
writh  her.  It  is  beyond  the  reach  of  earth's  medi- 
cament, but  still  not  without  a  remedy.  My  mind 
is  in  the  position  of  the  Psalmist,  when  he  says,  "  I 
wait  upon  the  Lord."  If  in  the  issue  I  be  refused, 
I  know  that  my  will  must  alternately  lose  itself  in 
his.  As  it  is,  I  am  never  happy,  nor  can  be  made 
so  by  anything;  for  the  joys  of  heaven  itself  are 
overclouded;  but  except  when  my  health  fails,  I 
can  be  cheerful  and  active,  and  take  of  the  good 
that  Providence  daily  and  abundantly  bestows,  I 
hope  with  a  grateful,  if  not  a  gladdened  heart.  I 
write  to  you  now  from  Southampton,  but  return  to 
Stansted  on  Monday;  I  have  been  here  ten  days 
enjoying  my  greatest  pleasure  in  its  kind,  tossing 
on  the  wide  waters.  Yesterday  I  went  round  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  a  scene  the  most  exquisite  I  have 
ever  enjoyed — the  steam-vessel  keeps  close  on  the 
shore,  and  by  the  rapidity  of  its  motions,  presents 


LETTERS.  109 

a  new  picture  every  moment.  This  sort  of  amuse- 
ment never  fails  to  brighten  my  cheeks  and  elevate 
my  spirits.  I  am  not  sure  about  my  future  move- 
ments, but  I  shall  be  at  Stansted  a  fortnight.  If 
you  do  not  get  any  answer  to  the  advertisement  by 
the  middle  of  the  month,  I  think  it  would  be  well 
to  repeat  it.  I  saw  some  advertisements  lately 
which  I  thought  would  do,  and  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  f  #  * 
to  inquire  about  them :  because,  being  on  the  spot, 
I  thought  it  would  be  less  trouble  to  her  than  to 
you;  but  I  have  yet  heard  nothing.  I  like  all  that 
you  tell  me  of  yourself,  dear:  I  like  that  you  should 
tell  it  me.  While  the  interest  of  every  thing  else 
is  waning  fast,  so  fast  that  I  sometimes  wonder 
what  is  to  occupy  the  other  half  of  my  three-score 
years  and  ten,  this  is  a  subject  of  which  the  interest 
deepens  every  moment.  These  bright  returnings 
are  worth  the  darkness  that  precedes  them,  were 
it  not  for  the  sin  that  belongs  to  it ;  but  I  am  per- 
suaded that  it  comes  of  our  own  fault,  of  our  wil- 
ful preference  of  something  else  to  him.  He  sees 
it,  and  leaves  us  to  make  trial  of  our  own  devices. 
"  He  is  wedded  to  his  idols,  let  him  alone."  What 
we  are  when  let  alone,  you  have  amply  proved, 
and  so  have  I,  too  well,  I  trust,  to  try  our  schemes 
again.  But  certainly  you  need  not  fear  that  He 
will  take  your  rejoicing  from  you.  It  was  God,  in 
some  sense,  who  cast  Jonah  into  the  deep :  but  the 
separation  began  not  with  him  ;  it  was  Jonah's  do- 
ing, not  his,  that  ever  he  came  there.  That  second 
chapter  is  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  darkness  and 
10 


H0  LETTERS. 

lifelessness  in  which  we  have  sometimes  found  our- 
selves. I  say  we,  for  in  this  we  seem  to  have  been 
alike.  But  I  think  we  are  alike  in  our  present  feel- 
ings— but  that  my  rejoicing  is  silenced  by  circum- 
stances extraneous  to  my  own  salvation;  spiritually 
I  have  been  at  no  time  so  happy  as  I  am  now,  and 
from  much  the  same  feeling  as  you  speak  of.  We 
shall  talk  of  it  together.  God  bless  you.  I  am 
quite  tired,  and  have  written  myself  sad. 

Very  affectionately  yours. 


VI.— TO  MRS.  *  •  * 

Milton  Street,  Dec.  8,  1827. 
My  dear  Friend, 
I  was  so  pleased  to  find  a  letter  from  you  on  my 
return  :  it  seemed  long  since  I  had  heard  about  you. 
Meeting,  I  grieve  to  say,  appears  distant,  as  you 
are  ere  this  off  to  Brighton,  and  next  week  I  am 
off  to  Bristol  ;  I  cannot  consequently  accept  your 
kind  invite  for  Christmas,  unless  I  should  return 
anything  of  time  before  my  pupils  want  me:  I 
shall  stay  at  least  three  weeks:  I  sympathize,  be 
assured,  in  all  you  feel,  and  wish  I  could  be  with 
you.  St.  Paul  says,  "affliction  though  good  is  still 
grievous ;"  and  I  suppose  he  knew.  Be  not  there- 
fore as  one  is  apt  to  be,  depressed  because  of  your 
depression  ;  I  mean  by  reproaching  yourself  with 


LETTERS.  HI 

it.  I  believe  the  Christian's  appointment  is  not  to 
be  happy — always — but  to  be  peacefully  content 
to  be  otherwise  when  it  pleases  God.  What  frets 
me  most  is,  that  you  look  thin  and  ill ;  I  wish  I 
could  nurse  you.  For  myself,  I  am  brave.  I  have 
had  ten  days  of  absolute  enjoyment  at  *  *  *  a 
scene  novel  enough.  To  sit  down,  Lady  *  #  * 
and  myself,  every  day  with  four  and  twenty  men, 
all  staying  in  the  house  ;  men  distinguished  too  for 
various  kinds  of  talent,  and  for  no  common  degree 
of  pious  devotedness  to  God  and  his  truth.  I  cer- 
tainly felt  considerable  fatigue  from  the  effort  of 
listening  and  understanding  the  deep  matters  in 
question  ;  but  this  is  not  so  bad  as  the  excitement 
of  playing  an  active  part  oneself  to  amuse  the 
stupid  !  It  was  the  excitement  only  of  deep  think- 
ing. I  would  not  wish  its  continuance,  however  ; 
the  whole  party  began  to  knock  up  ;  they  dispersed 
yesteday,  and  I  came  home  to-day,  with  a  head 
full  and  a  heart  full  of  good  and  holy  things,  that 
ought  to  last  me  for  some  season.  I  really  have 
never  seen  a  fairer  display  of  christian  principle 
and  feeling — and  that  unity  of  heart  which  in  such 
disjointed  company,  nothing  but  christian  love 
could  give  ;  I  must  tell  you  about  it  when  we  meet. 
I  think  upon  the  whole  my  heart  is  lighter  than  it's 
wont.  The  quiet  respectability  of  my  house  con- 
tinues to  be  very  valuable.  I  believe  I  shall  go  to 
*  *  *  for  a  day  with  Mrs.  *  *  *  and  will  take  to 
your  house  Mrs.  G's  book ;  if  not,  will  leave  it  for 
you  here  with  Mrs.  G .     I  have  had  a  sitting 


112 


LETTERS. 


to  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  and  am  to  have  another 
this  week  :  so  we  are  in  a  fair  way  to  finish ;  so 
much  for  self;  but  I  would  rather  talk  of  you, 
dear  thing;  you  write  in  so  much  sadness,  I  long 
to  come  and  cheer  you.  But  it  must  be,  dear,  that 
we  learn  these  lessons.  He  whom  we  follow,  little 
as  it  might  seem  He  needed  it,  even  He  was  made 
perfect  by  suffering.  How  should  we  be  perfected 
without  it  1  Your  cup  is  in  many  respects  so  full 
of  this  world's  good  there  is  more  to  dread  for 
you  from  too  much  prosperity,  than  from  these 
intervening  hours  of  sadness  ;  it  is  necessary,  doubt 
not,  that  your  heart  should  feel  desolate  amid  sur- 
rounding abundance,  while  others  have  fulness 
amid  surrounding  desolation.  It  is  the  same  be- 
neficent and  careful  hand  that  mixes  a  bitterness 
with  the  draught  of  prosperity,  and  sweetness  in 
the  cup  of  destitution,  and  both  to  the  same  end. 
It  matters  little  which  we  drink,  for  all  will  soon 
be  over.  I  feel  persuaded  that  the  fashion  of  this 
world  is  about  to  pass  away,  and  all  that  we  need 
care  for  is  to  be  ready;  or,  if  not,  the  three-score 
and  ten  are  telling  out.  Write  to  me  at  Bristol,  if 
you  like,  for  I  am  always  glad  to  hear  of  you.     I 

shall  be  at  Mr.  John  H 's  till  about  the  second 

week  in    January.     Give  my  love   to  *  *  *,  and 
kind  regards  to  Mr.  #  *  *  Good  bye,  dear  thing. 
Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Fry. 


LITTERS.  123 

VII.— TO  .MRS.  *  *  * 

September  29,  182S. 

My  Dearest  Thing, 
My  heart  reproaches  me  for  not  writing  to  you  ; 
and  though  the  time  approaches  when  I  trust  to 
see  you,  I  think  I  must  try  to  compound  a  letter. 
The  more  so  that  I  hear  you  have  been  again  in 
trouble,  dear,  with  dangerous  illness  in  your  family, 
the  ingredient  of  bitterness,  which  it  seems  the 
will  of  Providence  to  mix  in  your  else  full  cup  of 
prosperity.  I  am  grieved,  but  little  surprised  to 
hear  of  poor*  *  *'s  increased  illness;  I  thought 
her  very  ill ;  for  though  strangers  are  apt  to  say, 
and  even  Doctors  are  apt  to  say,  that  certain  feel- 
ings are  all  nervous,  and  might  be  resisted,  I  never 
believe  them  in  cases  such  as  hers.  I  hope  she  is 
recovering,  as  I  have  heard,  and  that  you,  little, 
kind,  busy  darling,  are  freed  from  your  anxiety 
and  not  injured  by  your  nursing.  Write  and  tell 
me  so,  if  there  is  time — but  I  believe  there  is  not 
— I  think  to  leave  here  the  beginning  of  next  week, 
and  to  reach  home  before  the  end  of  it.  This  is 
a  sorry  subject  with  me  ;  I  grieve  and  am  ashamed 
to  say  how  painful  it  is  to  me  to  think  of  coming 
home.  There  is  sin  I  fear,  as  well  as  painfulness 
in  the  feeling  ;  for  I  ought  not  to  hate  the  home 
that  heaven  has  assigned  me  ;  I  did  not  always  do 
so ;  the  time  has  been  when  I  was  entirely  satis- 
10* 


114 


LETTERS. 


fled  with  it,  and  thought  I  would  not  change  it  for 
another's  home  if  I  could  ;  and  professed  before 
God  that  I  desired  nothing  but  to  be   able  to  keep 
it.     I  wish  that  this  feeling   might  return  ;  for  it 
must  be  wrong  that  I  now  dread  always  the  time 
of  my  returning,  sicken  at  heart,  whenever  I  think 
of  it;   1  catch   at  anything  that  promises  to  put  it 
off.     I  believe  it  was  this  made  me  give  ear  to  a 
journey  to  Edinburgh  previous  to  my  return  ;  but 
some  increase  of  indisposition  blighting  the  spirit 
of  adventure,   and  some  facility  of  returning  to 
town  in  company  has  decided  me  otherwise,  and  I 
shall  come  home  next  week.     I  have   had  a  most 
prosperous  journey  ;   every  thing  since  I  left  Bris- 
tol has  turned  out  well,  every  facility  of  circum- 
stance for  health  and  enjoyment  has  been  afforded 
me,  and  there  have  been  no  reverses  ;  I  have  seen 
a  great  deal  to  interest  me  by  the  way,  especially 
in  Ireland,  where  I  was  detained  by  pleasure,  not 
by  illness  ;   and  in   this   delightful   seclusion,  with 
my  most  precious  and   beloved  friends  after  years 
of  separation,  I  am  as  happy  as  I  can  be,  who  for 
years  have  ceased  to   know  what  it   is  to  feel  en- 
tirely happy.     The  worst  part  of  my  summer  his- 
tory, is,  that  with   "  all   advantages  and  means  to 
boot,"  I  am  not  better.     From  the  time  of  leaving 
Bristol,  I  travelled  to  a  certain  point  of  betterness; 
for  forty  hours   I   think  I  was  wTell — that   was   at 
Holyhead  ;   since  which  I  have   travelled  back  to 
where   I   set    out :     my  hysterical   feelings    have 
terribly  increased  ;  my  walking  powers  are  not 


LETTERS. 


115 


amended  :  and  I  have  nothing  in  prospect  for  my 
return,  but  the  same  confinement,  joylessness,  and 
uselessness,  that  preceded  my  departure.  I  have 
again  had  medical  advice,  and  received  a  multi- 
tude of  directions  for  things  possible  a*nd  impossi- 
ble, of  which  the  former  half,  I  suppose,  will  lose 
their  charm,  for  want  of  performance  of  the  latter; 
but  I  shall  try.  I  believe,  however,  that  the  bet- 
ter charm  will  be,  by  heaven's  grace,  to  make  up 
my  mind  to  accept  as  unseen  good,  what  seems 
evil ;  to  submit  to  idleness  as  a  proof  that  God  has 
nothing  for  me  to  do  ;  and  to  joylessness  as  an 
evidence  that  enjoyment  would  do  me  harm.  It 
seems  that  this  would  be  greater  wisdom  than  to 
contend  against  feelings  which  have  resisted  the 
most  favourable  circumstances.  My  Doctor's 
most  imperative  prescription  is,  that  I  shall  do  no- 
thing mentally,  or  bodily,  that  can  be  left  undone. 
What  would  you  do  with  such  a  prescription  as 
this,  dear  little  activity?  Not  observe  it,  I  believe, 
for  all  your  faith  and  perseverance  in  medical  di- 
rections. I  am  very  reluctant  to  leave  this  spot ; 
but  for  one  reason,  I  should  like  to  stay  here  a 
twelvemonth.  I  feel  the  want  of  my  own  church  ; 
the  cold  and  comfortless  Sundays  that  bring  no 
sermons,  and  scarcely  any  services  to  cheer  and 
gladden  the  heart.  The  country  is  beautiful,  but 
not  so  beautiful  as  Ireland.  The  county  Wicklow 
exceeds  all  I  have  seen  in  Wales  or  England  for 
picturesque  beauty.  I  was  better  there,  but  never 
well  except  upon  the  sea.     Dear  Thing,   be   at 


HQ  LETTERS. 


home  when  I  return,  and  keep  a  warm  corner  in 
your  heart  to  welcome  me,  for  I  shall  need  some 
pleasure  amid  the  abundant  sadness  I  shall  feel, 
and  there  will  be  none  greater  than  to  see  you 
again.  Do  not  write  unless  you  can  do  so  before 
Sunday;  do  not  forget  to  love  me,  and  to  let 
me  be, 

Very  affectionately  yours. 


VIIL— TO  MRS.  *  •  ♦. 

Monday,  October,  1828. 

My  dear  Friend, 
I  was  very  happy  to  find  your  letter  on  my  ar- 
rival on  Saturday ;  I  should  have  told  you  so  be- 
fore, but  I  had  no  senses  that  night,  and  yesterday 
only  got  up  to  go  to  evening  church.  Here  I  am 
however,  as  well  as  I  may  expect,  considering  that 
I  was  in  bed  all  the  day  previous  to  my  journey, 
and  so  unwell  on  the  road  as  to  be  obliged  to  stay 
two  nights  at  Oxford.  But  I  scarcely  yet  know 
where  or  how  I  am.  Come  and  see  me  as  quickly 
as  you  are  able ;  no  fear  of  finding  me  out,  and  my 
heart  will  rejoice  to  see  you.  Poor  dear !  Do 
not  reproach  yourself  for  sadness  and  ingratitude; 
what  you  feel  is  merely  the  result  of  physical  ex- 


LETTERS.  U7 

haustion,  the  after-misery  of  too  much  anxiety  and 
exertion.  Treat  it  as  such,  and  not  as  moral,  far 
less  spiritual  defection.  Humour  yourself  and  rest 
yourself,  and  believe  that  God  knows  you  are  but 
dust,  and  judges  of  you  according  to  your  feeble- 
ness. No,  dear,  I  do  not  think  you  fickle,  but  it  is 
a  hard  matter,  when  we  know  ourselves,  to  believe 
that  anybody  can  love  us  long;  and  as  day  by  day 
we  find  out  that  we  are  nothing,  of  all  the  great 
things  we  have  thought  ourselves,  there  is  an  in- 
voluntary apprehension  that  others  will  find  it  out 
too,  and  cease  to  care  for  us.  Happily  there  is  no 
fear  of  this  from  Him  whose  love  is  best,  for  He 
knew  all  at  first.  I  write  in  haste ;  God  bless  you, 
dear.  My  kindest  love  to  *  *  #.  Come  soon. 
Very  affectionately,  yours. 


IX.— TO  MRS.  *  *  *. 

January  31,  1829. 

Dearest  little  precious, 
To  have  your  note  to  answer  this  evening,  is  a 
blessing  to  my  idleness;  for  idle,  miserably  idle  are 
my  hours  day  by  day.  My  cares  with  you,  dear, 
did  me  no  harm,  they  only  for  a  season  diverted 
my  mind  from  the  weight  that  oppresses  it,  and 
made  me  seem  the  better  that  I  am  not;  as  I 
always  discover  when  the  temporary  excitement 


118  LETTERS. 

subsides.  And  so  I  am  neither  worse  nor  better 
than  before  I  shared  your  painful  tasks.  You  tell 
stories, — I  may  know  or  I  may  not  know,  for 
friendship's  eye  is  keen,  and  conscience  is  treach- 
erous ;  the  nature  of  the  sins  that  weigh  upon  your 
heart,  and  those  which  blacken  my  own,  may  or 
may  not  be  of  the  same  nature;  for  I  have  never 
shocked  any  eye  but  that  of  Heaven  with  the  ex- 
hibition of  them.  But  of  this  I  am  quite  certain,  if 
sympathy  can  be  secured  by  the  measure  of  sin, 
of  sorrow  and  of  self-reproach,  I  can  sympathize 
with  yours,  for  I  defy  them,  yes,  I  do  defy  them  to 
exceed  my  own,  whatever  difference  of  character 
they  may  bear.  But  we  know  that  we  are  par- 
doned both.  The  memory  of  these  sins  with  God 
is  blotted  out:  thence  is  our  joy: — with  us  it  must 
go  to  our  graves,  thence  is  our  sorrow;  and  so  far 
from  believing  in  an  experience,  all  of  sorrow  or 
all  of  joy,  I  believe  the  exquisiteness  of  the  one 
will,  in  every  mind,  be  proportioned  to  the  agony 
of  the  other.  And  be  our  assurance  what  it  may, 
and  it  cannot  be  too  much,  there  will  be  these  re- 
turns of  bitter  self-reproach.  Satan  knows  his 
opportunity  too  well  to  miss  it.  Whenever  the 
spirits  are  depressed  by  outward  circumstances, 
the  nerves  shattered  by  disease,  or  the  enjoyment 
of  spiritual  things  overclouded;  he  comes  in  to 
disturb  what  he  cannot  destroy;  he  brings  to  mind 
the  former  things  which  he  but  knows  too  well. 
Too  well  he  knows  the  secret  things  of  the  heart 
where  once  he  reigned,  and  he  lays  them  bare  be- 


LETTERS.  U9 

fore  us  whenever  opportunity  serves,  in  hopes  to 
drive  us  from  our  hold  on  Christ.  Thus  he  is 
emphatically  called  in  Scripture  "  the  accuser  of 
the  brethren,"  and  he  has  more  witness  to  bring 
against  them  than  any  other,  because  he  was  a 
partner  in  all  their  crimes.  And  because  he  may 
no  more  accuse  us  before  God,  he  accuses  us  to 
ourselves,  that  we  may  judge  ourselves  when  God 
will  no  more  judge  us.  This  is  your  case  at  the 
present  moment,  and  it  is  often,  very  often  mine. 
Thank  God  !  experience  has  taught  me  to  recog- 
nize the  countenance,  and  the  language  of  that 
accuser:  though  still  he  comes  to  tell  again  his 
oft-detected  lie, — "  Too  wicked,  too  wicked  to  be 
safe  I"  Bid  him  get  behind  thee,  dear,  whenever 
he  tells  thee  so ;  and  appeal  to  Jesus,  for  he  hates 
that  name,  and  flies  the  very  sounding  of  it.  As 
to  your  thoughts  of  chastisement  for  past  sin,  I  do 
not  think  we  may  look  for  it  with  emotions  of  fear. 
I  think  the  chastisements  of  God  upon  his  people 
are  prospective;  retrospective  never.  Do  you  see 
what  I  mean,  dear;  if  I  had  yesterday  a  cankered 
wound  in  my  hand,  the  careful  surgeon  may  come 
to-day  and  cut  it  off.  Not  because  it  was  diseased 
yesterday,  but  that  it  may  not  be  so  to-morrow :  if 
he  saw  it  cured,  he  would  not  cut  it  off.  Exactly 
in  this  point  of  view,  I  look  upon  the  chastisements 
the  believer  has  to  anticipate.  No  punishment  but 
that  which  is  remedial;  if  the  sin  which  last  year 
broke  out  into  action  of  offence  before  God,  be  this 
year  existing  unabated  in   my  bosom,  ready  to 


120 


LETTERS. 


break  out  again,  then  chastisement  must  come;  the 
bitter  remedy  must  be  applied ;  the  painful  cure 
performed,  because  by  any  means,  or  all  means,  I 
must  be  made  holy.  This  is  all  my  idea  of  pun- 
ishment for  forgiven  sin.  The  sin  of  yesterday 
will  not  be  punished,  unless  it  be  to  prevent  the  sin 
of  to-morrow.  Our  Father  will  spare  it  if  he  can ; 
there  is  no  wrath  in  his  bosom  for  the  past:  and  if 
my  view  be  right,  I  see  in  it  no  ground  of  depres- 
sion, but  rather  of  rejoicing,  of  encouragement. 
If  we  hate  the  sin  more  than  its  consequences, 
which  I  believe  we  do,  we  shall  rather  hope  than 
fear,  to  see  those  consequences  doing  execution 
upon  the  sin.  It  is  very  different  from  punishment, 
resentful,  retrospective  punishment.  Never  think 
of  that.  What  is  past  of  sin  is  forgotten ;  what  re- 
mains of  it  in  the  bosom  is  remembered  to  be 
eradicated.  Oh !  you  dear  little  creature,  you 
think  your  heart  is  worse  than  any  other ;  and  well 
you  may,  for  it  is  the  only  one  you  ever  saw.  But 
I  could  show  you  one  to  match  it,  if  indeed  it  be 
not  worse,  which  I  suspect  it  is.  But  of  the 
heights  of  joy,  and  of  the  depths  of  anguish,  I 
could  almost  say  of  hell  itself,  you  can  tell  me 
nothing  that  I  do  not  know;  and  I  am  sure  that 
one  state  is  as  safe,  though  I  say  not  as  desirable, 
as  the  other,  and  it  is  in  the  latter  state  that  faith 
is  strongest:  if  it  abide  at  all  in  the  former  case, 
it  participates  so  much  the  nature  of  sight.  Whose 
faith  think  you  was  strongest,  the  disciples'  on  the 
Mount,  or  Jonah's  in  the  deep  1     I  conclude  the 


LETTERS. 


121 


latter.  Be  comforted  then,  and  if  you  be  sunk  as 
far  from  light  as  he,  do  as  he  did,  and  it  will  soon 
be  day.  But  now,  dear,  if  I  have  written  you 
comfort,  I  pray  you  w-rite  me  some — for  I  am  as 
sad  as  you,  as  low,  as  joyless,  though  not  exactly 
now  in  the  same  frame  perhaps;  and  nobody  com- 
forts, nobody  counsels  me — well,  I  must  wait  too. 
I  am  glad  for  the  recovery  of  your  party;  as  for 
the  prints,  they  have  been  in  my  way  ever  since; 
but  I  could  not  remember  to  send  them.  Nor 
shall  I  now7,  unless  you  ask  for  them  when  you 
come;  yet  have  I  kept  them  carefully.  When 
shall  you  come?  not  soon?  Do  not  come  on 
Thursday,  for  I  shall  be  out  all  day — 
Your's,  affectionately, 

Caroline  Fry. 


X.— TO  MRS.  *  *  *. 

March  19,  1329. 

Mv  dearest  Thing, 
Your  sadness  is  so  much  on  my  mind,  and  your 
dear  little  mournful  face,  I  cannot  help  waiting  to 
you.  Yet  what  to  say?  Only  to  repeat  the  still- 
repeated  tale;  for  ever  true,  and  still  to  be  believed, 
when  all  without  us  and  within  seems  to  belie  it. 
This  is  the  case  with  me,  and  it  may  be  with  you. 
I  cannot  see  that  God  is  good,  I  cannot  feel  it,  but 
11 


122 


LETTERS. 


still  I  can  believe  it.  I  have  not  joy,  I  have  not 
comfort, — how  then  can  I  give  it  to  you?  But  I 
have  faith,  and  with  that,  dear,  I  would  try  to  en- 
courage you.  Your  position  is  full  of  painful  cir- 
cumstances, and  well  I  know  what  is  the  sickness 
of  baffled  hope,  and  seemingly  unanswered  prayer. 
All  I  can  say  to  you  is,  to  remind  you  of  the 
strong  faith,  the  vivid  joy,  so  lately  granted  you; 
when  your  mountain  seemed  to  stand  so  strong 
that  nothing  could  move  it.  I  knew  better,  be- 
cause I  had  tried  all  this  before  you:  and  I  knew 
that  trial  and  much  casting  down  must  follow. 
When  the  disciples  were  on  the  Mount,  they 
would  have  built  tabernacles  to  remain  there;  but 
only  for  a  moment  were  they  on  that  height,  to 
prepare  them  for  the  depths  of  temptation  and 
affliction  they  had  to  pass  through.  So  Paul, 
when  he  had  been  in  the  third  heaven,  and  be- 
cause he  had  been  there,  found  it  needful  that  he 
should  be  humiliated  and  afflicted  to  prevent  spi- 
ritual pride.  Your  case  is  similar.  You  had  so 
bright  an  enjoyment  of  God,  so  full  a  taste  of  the 
freedom  which  his  entire  salvation  gives,  to  ena- 
ble and  prepare  you  for  all  the  trials  of  your  faith, 
and  all  the  depressions  on  your  spirit  that  have 
come  upon  you  since,  and  may  be  still  to  come; 
and  you  will  not  mistrust  in  darkness  Him  you 
have  beheld  in  light.  It  were  but  a  little  matter 
to  trust  him  and  love  him  then.  The  excellence 
and  reality  of  your  faith  will  prove  itself  by  loving 
and  trusting  him  now;  by  believing  that  all  is  good 


LETTERS.  J23 

when  all  seems  evil ;  by  hoping  when  there  seems 
no  ground  of  hope;  by  giving  praises  in  the  midst 
of  sorrow.  This,  dear,  is  the  best  I  can  say  to 
you:  because,  to  say  that  you  have  not  cause  for 
fear  and  cause  for  sorrow,  is  not  to  speak  truth  ; 
and  though  I  may  truly  say  I  yet  hope  to  see  your 
fears  removed,  it  is  a  more  Christian  tone  of  con- 
solation, to  say  that  God  will  support  and  bless 
you  in  the  midst  of  trouble,  than  that  he  will  avert 
it, — the  which  he  has  certainly  not  promised, 
though  frequently  he  does  it  in  answer  to  our 
prayers.  And  may  he  so  to  yours,  dear,  or  rather 
to  ours,  for  I  pray  for  you  daily.  I  wish  you 
would  soon  write  and  tell  me  how  you  go  on. 
And  particularly  do  not  let  Satan  harass  you  with 
thoughts  of  self-reproach,  as  if,  if  you  had  done 
other  than  you  did,  or  had  been  other  than  you 
were,  things  would  have  come  out  otherwise. 
That  is  a  favourite  lie  of  his,  to  harass  the  grieved 
spirit.  That  it  is  one,  be  sure.  The  salvation  of 
any  one  soul,  cannot  depend  on  any  human  agen- 
cy;  what  God  means  to  do,  he  puts  it  perhaps 
upon  some  honoured  agent  to  perform,  but  not  in 
a  way  to  be  hindered  by  their  unworthiness,  or 
defeated  by  their  unfaithfulness.  To  think  this,  is 
to  take  salvation  out  of  God's  hands  into  our  own, 
and  does  him  much  dishonour.  *  ****** 
Good  bye,  dear.  It  is  a  great  effort  to  write  even 
this  scrap,  for  my  spirits  are  so  bad,  my  mind  so 
gloomy,  I  think  it  best  to  abstain   from  writing 


1 24  LETTERS. 

to  my  friends,  lest  I  give  unfit  expression  to  my 
feelings. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Fry. 


XL— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

Nov.  28,  1829. 

My  dearest  Thing, 

I  was  wishing  much  for  the  postman  to  bring 
me  one  of  the  well-known  notes  that  always  come 
in  so  welcome.  There  is  no  perceptible  reason 
why  I  should  not  come  to  you  next  week,  if  I  am 
in  the  least  degree  worth  your  having.  This  only 
I  am  inclined  to  doubt.  I  have  not  been  so  well 
the  last  week,  and  my  spirits  have  been  low  be- 
yond what  I  can  account  for  by  any  known  cause. 
I  was  so  much  better  in  this  respect,  the  only  thing 
really  painful  in  my  illness,  that  I  cared  little  com- 
paratively for  the  rest ;  but  this  week  I  am  quite 
down  again,  with  little  relish  or  desire  for  any- 
thing; and  scarcely  able  to  control  my  tears. 
Under  this  circumstance,  I  should  say  to  anybody's 
ask  but  yours,  I  will  come  if  I  am  better,  but  To 
you  I  still  say,  I  will  come  if  you  like  me.  I  be- 
lieve, however,  that  the  close  weather  may  be  the 
cause  of  my  being  so  unwell,  which  the  lapse  of  a 
week  may  make  a  change  in.     How  I  want  to  see 


LETTERS-  125 

you  I  cannot  say.  I  feel  great  hope  that  your 
anxiety  for  Mr.  *  *  *  is  gradually  subsiding,  and 
will  be  removed.  For  poor  *  *  *  's  case  I  feel 
anxious,  but  not  despairing.  You,  dear  thing,  are 
in  the  hands  of  Him  who  loves  you,  and  has  set 
his  seal  upon  you  to  secure  you  for  his  own :  harm 
cannot  come  to  you,  though  sorrow  may,  and  even 
in  the  midst  of  it  you  will  be  as  Paul,  "  sorrowing, 
yet  always  rejoicing."  I  want  to  gossip  with  you 
sadly,  to  cheer  and  to  be  cheered.  If  I  know  not 
how  my  writings  can  comfort  you,  dear,  as  little 
do  you  know  how  it  comforts  me  to  hear  of  it ;  for 
in  the  great  sadness  of  my  spirit  at  times,  I  have 
the  feeling  of  being  useless  to  everybody  and 
worthless  for  anything;  everything  I  have  done 
seems  wasted  and  amiss,  with  a  hopeless  discou- 
ragement ever  to  do  more.  To  believe,  if  I  can 
believe  it,  that  one  hour  of  anybody's  sadness  has 
been  lightened  by  my  means,  is  a  real  medicine  to 
my  own.  Under  some  such  feeling,  after  receiving 
some  such  commendations,  I  penned  the  few  lines 
I  have  enclosed;  no,  not  penned,  this  is  the  first 
penning,  but  jumbled  in  my  head.  They  come  to 
you,  because  they  mean  what  they  say — they  ask 
a  prayer;  and  perhaps  where  people  mean  what 
they  say,  as  you  do,  about  my  writings,  they  may 
win  one;  so  here  they  come:  at  least  they  will  di- 
vert your  mind  for  ten  minutes.  I  have  received 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  H.  M to-day,  with  an  ac- 
count of  my  poor  friend's  death,  which  did  not 
take  place  till  last  week,  and  a  message  from  her 
11* 


126  LETTERS. 

death-bed  ;  it  was  most  happy.  God  be  thanked  I 
do  not  mourn  her  death,  she  was  too  miserable  for 
friendship  to  wish  to  keep  her.  But  a  thousand 
recollections  of  by-gone  days,  life's  broken  pro- 
mises and  abortive  hopes,  have  come  to  me  in  the 
reading  of  this  letter,  and  perhaps  not  raised  my 
spirits.     In  sadness  or  in  joy,  still, 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Fry. 

The  thanks  be  to  another — look  you  there 
Upon  the  midnight's  solitary  star; — 
It  is  not  hers;  the  light  she  sheds  on  you, 
She  borrow'd  it — she  soon  may  want  it  too. 

But  oh !  if  ever  on  a  night  of  yours, 
The  poet's  lay  has  scatter'd  moonlight  hours — 
Shed  one  bright  beam  upon  a  doubtful  road, 
Or  ting'd  with  silver  streaks  one  parting  cloud  : 

If  ever,  by  the  glimmering  of  her  light, 
You  'scaped  the  snare  intended  for  your  feet ; 
Or  from  the  altar  of  her  hopes  have  won 
A  spark  of  fire  to  re- illume  your  own : 

Then  think  upon  her  when  her  light  grows  dim, 
When  falls  upon  her  disk  no  sunshine  stream  ; 
Think  when  she  wanders,  from  observance  gone, 
Perhaps  in  darkness,  and  perhaps  alone. 

It  may  be  that  in  all  her  hours  of  wane, 
None  pays  to  her  the  sunbeam  back  again ; 
Nor  any  star  begirts  with  grateful  light 
The  clouds  that  hang  upon  her  bosom's  night. 


LETTERS. 


127 


Go  then  to  God — and  if  before  the  throne, 
There  comes  the  thought  of  ought  that  she  has  done 
Leave  there  the  thanks,  and  leave  the  praises  there  - 
But  Oh  !  remember,  that  she  needs  the  prayer ! 


XII. TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

Nov.  1S29. 
My  dearest  Friexd, 
It  is  never  any  trouble  to  me  to  get  your  notes, 
no  matter  what  brings  them.  I  enclose  you  the 
letter  you  desire.  They  will  see  by  it  my  opinion 
of  the  miracles,  and  also  of  the  party  that  have 
promulgated  them;  and  if  what  I  think  might  be 
of  importance  to  any,  I  wish  it  were  proclaimed 
from  the  house-tops.  Ves :  I  too  have  heard  Mr. 
*  *  *  since  his  ocular  demonstrations,  and  I  heard 
him  say  that  the  regeneration  of  the  soul  by  the 
Holy  Spirit,  does  not  make  a  man  the  temple  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  but  these  miraculous  gifts  do:  that, 
not  to  believe  them  icithout  proof,  is  not  to  believe 
in  God !  Would  you  take  the  authority  of  such  a 
bedlamite  as  this,  even  for  what  he  says  that  he 
has  seen?  I  would  not.  Dr.  Chalmers  did  say  that 
of  Irving,  but  it  was  three  years  ago — antecedent 
to  any  of  these  flights  that  he  has  taken.  I  am 
grieved  exceedingly  that  Mrs.  *  *  #  has  followed 
this  party:  but  I  am  not  exactly  surprised.     It  is 


128  LETTERS. 

to  be  observed,  that  all  the  adherents  of  Mr.  Ir- 
ving have  believed  these  miracles,  and  not  one  in- 
dividual that  I  have  met  with  beside.  I  certainly 
do  counsel  you,  for  yourself,  not  to  trouble  your- 
self about  them;  but  if  it  does  occur,  as  in  spite 
of  ourselves  it  sometimes  will,  that  we  must  speak 
for  others'  sake,  then  it  is  needful  our  protest 
against  them  be  plain,  firm,  and  decided.  I  am 
resolved  for  my  own  part  how  to  act.  I  will  keep 
out  of  their  way  as  much  as  I  can:  when  I  can- 
not do  this,  I  will  refuse  to  discuss  their  doctrines; 
but  whenever  compelled  to  speak,  there  shall  be 
no  mistake  as  to  what  I  think  about  it.  Of  course 
you  know,  or  will  know,  that  *  *  *  and  the  girls 
are  going, — actually  going,  to  Scotland,  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  seeing  these  wonder-workers. 
Mr.  •  *  *  has  a  right  to  please  himself  in  the  ob- 
jects of  his  travel,  to  be  sure;  and  that  is  no  busi- 
ness of  mine — but  girls,  young  girls  !  Alas!  dear, 
there  are  more  kinds  of  revolutions  in  the  world 
than  one;  and  if  we  live  long,  we  shall  see  more 
things  overturned  than  the  thrones  of  the  Bourbons. 
'I  am  just  returned  from  a  dinner  party,  where  I 
was  obliged,  a  contre  caeur,  you  may  believe,  to 
take  part  against  a  disciple  of  prophecy;  because, 
with  no  very  deep  knowledge,  as  I  fear,  of  Christ 
crucified,  he  chose  to  propound,  that  every  man 
who  resists  these  views  of  the  Advent,  wilfully  de-» 
nies  the  word  of  God ;  in  short,  that  they  are  es- 
sential and  indispensable.  Now  is  not  this  enough 
to  make  one,  if  it  might  be,  deny  one's  creed  ? 


LETTERS.  1 29 

Thank  you,  dear,  I  know  you  wish  me  happy,  but 
I  am  too  miserable  to  say  words  about  it.  My 
head  has  been  very  bad  during  the  cold  weather, 
but  is  better  again  this  week.     Write  often. 

Very  affectionately  yours. 


XIII. TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

February  15,  1830. 
You  are  such  a  sensitive  little  darling  I  really  do 
not  know  how  to  deal  with  you,  much  as  I  am  ac- 
customed to  hasty  people.  Oblige  me,  dear,  at 
least  by  reading  my  note  again  when  you  are  cool; 
you  will  surely  perceive  that  you  mistook  every- 
thing in  it:  that  it  was  not  intended  or  calculated 
to  lower  you  in  your  own  opinion,  or  sadden  your 
heart.  You  will  see  that  I  said  your  note  had  not 
caused  my  silence.  And  when  I  spoke  of  your  un- 
sanctified  words,  thoughts,  &c,  I  had  no  idea  of 
making  a  charge  against  you,  but  to  assent  to  that 
of  which  I  thought  you  complained;  which  I 
thought  you  knew;  which  I  thought  every  Chris- 
tian knew  ;  which  if  I  had  said  of  myself,  I  should 
have  expected  you  to  assent  to;  and  which  I 
should  not  have  contradicted  ha3  I  heard  it  said  of 
any  saint  alive.  I  did  not,  my  precious  little  thing, 
mean  to  say  that  your  character  was  more  unsanc- 
tified  than  my  own.    I  declare  before  God  I  do  not 


230  LETTERS. 

think  so.  You  have  many  advantages  over  me,  in 
natural  disposition,  and  the  greatest  advantage  I 
have  over  you  is  in  experience  ;  I  see  your  faults 
because  I  have  committed  them ;  I  know  the 
fallacy  of  your  words,  because  I  used  to  say  them  ; 
I  perceive  your  mistake  because  I  have  suffer- 
ed from  the  same;  and  I  warn  you  of  dangers, 
because  I  fell  into  them  myself  unwarned.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  tell  you,  you  are  belter  than  you 
think.  I  believe  you  are  worse  than  ever  you 
knew  or  can  know.  But  I  meant  to  tell  you,  and 
I  thought  what  I  had  said  would  have  that  effect, 
that  you  were  not  to  be  cast  down  by  the  dis- 
covery of  faults  that  every  saint  must  discover  at 
every  step  of  his  progress  heavenward.  My  dear 
thing,  do  you  repeat  every  Sabbath  on  your  knees 
before  God,  that  there  is  "  no  health  in  you,"  and 
yet  feel  surprised  and  pained  on  the  Monday  to 
discover  that  you  have  faults,  or  to  hear  that  others 
have  perceived  them  ?  The  time  will  be,  and  per- 
haps not  long  first,  that  you  will  never  feel  asham- 
ed or  sad,  but  when  you  are  commended.  I  would 
not  for  any  thing  have  said  what  I  did,  if  I  had 
thought  it  would  sadden  you  ;  even  what  I  re- 
marked of  your  manner,  I  should  not  have  said, 
had  I  not  understood  you  to  complain  of  it;  and 
though  true,  I  wished  you  not  to  distress  yourself 
about  it,  as  if  it  were  an  evil  really  in  your  heart. 
I  must  have  been  very  awkward  to  hurt  when  I 
meant  to  heal ;  but,  dear  thing,  you  must  not 
attach  too  much  importance  to  what  people  write 


LETTERS.  J  31 

in    moments    of  such    intense   suffering   as   I   am 


- 


under;  it  affects  our  expressions,  and  often  makes 
bitter  what  should  be  kind,  and  is  really  meant  to 
be  so.  You  think  too  well  of  me  a  great  deal, 
which  is  an  evil  in  our  friendship,  because  you 
expect  better  from  me  than  is  in  me ;  and  attach 
importance  to  opinions  that  are  not  worth  a  straw, 
and  when  we  differ  you  are  fretted,  as  if  I  were 
not  just  as  likely  to  be  wrong  as  you.  I  will  tell 
you  something  Mr.  Howells  said  yesterday. 
Preaching  on  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "  Of  whom  I 
am  the  chief,"  he  remarked,  that  Paul  does  not 
say  he  had  been,  but  that  he  actually  was,  at  that 
time,  the  chief  of  sinners :  although  he  was  per- 
haps, the  greatest  character,  next  to  Christ  him- 
self, who  ever  lived  on  earth.  He  added  too,  that 
he  believed  the  words  should  be  taken  literally  as 
true,  that  not  only  did  Paul  think  himself  to  be, 
but  that  he  actually  was,  the  chief  of  sinners. 
Now  dearest,  be  comforted  ;  Think  as  ill  of  your- 
self as  you  like;  but  do  not  be  surprised,  do  not  be 
cast  down  by  the  discovery.  Read  my  note  again, 
and  see  how  different  it  is  from  what  you  thought. 
I  love  you  very  dearly,  I  am  quite  as  much  hurt 
as  you  can  be  when  you  say  we  do  not  understand 
or  suit  each  other.  I  do  not  believe  it.  Your 
kindness  and  affection  have  been  of  great  value  to 
me  in  my  great  sorrow,  and  will  be  so  still ;  no- 
body has  contributed  more  to  my  comfort  than 
you  have  done  since  I  knew  you.  If  I  said  you 
cannot  help  me,  I  meant  at  this  exact  moment  ; 


]32  LETTERS. 

because  I  must  stay  at  home;  and  your  occupa- 
tions necessarily  keep  you  from  me.  You  are  my 
own  little  precious,  and  though  these  may  seem 
terms  of  which  I  am  prodigal,  I  never  will  use  one 
of  them  unless  I  mean  what  I  say.  With  regard 
to  pain  you  have  given,  dear,  you  did  not  mean  it; 
I  was  never  angry,  though  I  was  pained ; — you 
did  me  no  wrong.  I  have  written  with  difficulty, 
but  I  could  not  forbear.  My  head-ache  is  intense; 
I  can  hardly  describe  the  state  it  was  in  last  night 
from  the  excitement  of  going  to  church  in  the 
morning:  where,  by  the  by,  I  found  out  how  much 
that  which  is  good  may  be  exceeded  by  that  which 
is  best.  You  know  I  have  been  pleased,  and  yet 
in  hearing  Mr.  Howells  again  I  wonder  how  I 
could  be,  so  much  is  he  superior  to  everything 
else  !  Now  as  you  construe  everything  to  your 
own  disadvantage,  you  will  remember  that  I  said 
you  would  not  like  him.  I  meant  no  depreciation 
of  you  or  him  in  saying  so  ;  I  feel  very  curious  to 
know  how  it  would  be;  but  I  think  his  irregularity 
would  put  your  mind  into  utter  confusion  before 
you  had  time  to  compass  his  meaning;  some  of  his 
astounding  propositions  would  so  overset  you  at 
the  commencement,  you  would  not  sufficiently  re- 
cover yourself  to  enjoy  the  rest; — this  is  what  I 
meant. 

I  meant  you  to  have  this  by  the  first  post  to-mor- 
row7, but  I  have  had  so  many  visitors ;  and  now  I 
am  so  tired  I  cannot  write  more,  and  my  dinner 
is  come  in.     Dear  little  Thing,  you  can  do  me 


LETTERS.  j  33 

good  even  now — you  can  pray  for  me — and  I  be- 
lieve that  is  a  greater  good  than  most  that  we 
can  ever  do  for  each  other. 

Very  affectionately  yours. 


XIV.— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 
Hampstead,  Monday,  April  26,  1830. 

My  Dear  Thixg, 
How  much  the  few  added  miles  has  really  sepa- 
rated us,  I  feel  every  day.  It  was  not,  however, 
an  uncounted  cost.  You,  as  my  dearest  and 
kindest  friend,  I  considered  the  greatest  loss  :  but 
I  must  of  course  feel  the  loss  of  my  London  socie- 
ty generally :  and  do  so  very  much.  But  if  the 
sacrifice  is  only  what  I  calculated  upon,  the  gain 
is  much  more;  for  I  am  better  beyond  my  expec- 
tations. The  exhilaration  I  feel  in  wandering 
about  this  beautiful  heath,  is  more  than  I  have  felt 
since  our  summer  excursion  ;  and  even  my  home 
feelings  are  much  improved.  I  have  felt  even  an 
inclination  some  days  to  resume  my  pen  and  en- 
lighten the  world  again ;  and  have  really  had  the 
long  unknown  sensation  of  wishing  I  had  some- 
thing to  do:  a  very  different  sensation,  I  assure 
you,  from  that  I  have  so  long  suffered,  of  wishing 
I  had  power  to  do  something.  So  far,  therefore, 
I  am  satisfied  and  grateful  for  the  change.  I 
12 


1 34  LETTERS. 

have  no  pupils  yet;  but  I  dare  say  they  will  come; 
when  it  pleases  God  to  send  them.  I  cannot  be 
anxious  upon  a  matter  which  has  been  managed 
without  my  foreseeing  how  it  was  to  be,  for  these 
twenty  years  past;  during  which  I  have  never  had 
anything,  nor  ever  wanted  anything.  I  have 
never  known  how  any  year's  expenses  were  to  be 
provided,  but  they  have  been.  This  is  ground 
enough  for  reliance.  But  not  to  claim  too  much 
for  my  trust  in  God,  I  must  acknowledge  the  effi- 
cacy of  one  great  care  to  absorb  all  lesser  ones. 
###*##*#  Enough  of  self.  I  should  not 
have  suffered  your  former  letter  to  have  remained 
unanswered,  dearest,  had  I  known  how  to  reply  to 
your  expressions  of  sadness.  This  I  did  not,  hav- 
ing no  clue  to  the  cause,  not  even  enough  to  judge 
whether  the  trial  were  some  external  cross,  or 
some  internal  struggle  with  your  soul's  worst 
enemy.  In  this  uncertainty,  I  feared  that  if  I  at- 
tempted to  speak,  I  might  say  exactly  the  wrong 
thing,  and  wound  where  I  desired  to  comfort. 
Your  situation  necessarily  exposes  you  to  many 
external  difficulties,  but  He  that  is  for  you  is 
greater  than  all  that  is  against  you  ;  be  mild,  firm, 
and  faithful,  and  you  will  pass  safely  through 
every  storm.  To  external  conflicts,  your  own 
character  eminently  exposes  you  ;  but  here  too 
you  have  no  cause  to  feel:  the  battle  must  be 
fought,  but  the  victory  is  sure;  you  began  it  not  in 
your  own  strength,  and  therefore  cannot  lose  it  by 
your  own  weakness.     Go  on  in  the  strength  of  the 


LETTERS.  235 

Lord,  and  fear  no  evil  in  the  issue;  nor  any  thing 
in  the  way  but  sin  ;  the  contact,  the  approach, 
the  semblance  of  sin:  fear  that  increasingly,  as 
you  would  save  yourself  from  those  returns  of 
misery  which  are  its  genuine  consequence.  But  I 
am  talking  at  random,  and  may  well  leave  off.  I 
have  promised  to  see  the  *  *  *  if  I  am  at  *  *  * 
while  they  are  there  ;  then  I  shall  make  you  go 
with  me,  and  show  you  to  them,  for  I  think  they 
would  like  you,  and  you  would  like  them  ;  though 
under  all  circumstances,  formal  visiting  would 
hardly  perhaps  be  available.  God  bless  you,  dear; 
it  does  grieve  me  not  to  see  you,  but  I  know  it 
cannot  be  otherwise  :  write  soon. 

Very  affectionately  yeurs, 

Caroline  Fry. 


XV.— TO    MRS.  *  *  * 

Monday  Evning,  1889. 

My  Dearest  Frle.vd, 
I  was  very  sorry  to  miss  your  visit  in  town  ;  as 
for  writing,  I  deferred  it  till  my  return  home. 
Thank  you  now  for  your  various  communications, 
all  kind  like  yourself.  The  cap  is  very  pretty,  and 
I  am  infinitely  obliged?  but  have  you  not  cheated 
yourself  in  the  outlay  ?  If  not,  I  certainly  cannot 
complain   of  the  expenditure,  and  am  be-capped 


136 


LETTERS. 


for  some  time.  I  am  less  surprised  than  grieved 
that  you  are  ill ;  for  I  thought  you  seemed  so  ; 
send  me  a  better  report,  and  do  not  be  down- 
hearted, dearest;  lights  and  shadows  are  perpetu- 
ally passing  over  this  transitory  scene.  Things 
look  cheerless  sometimes,  we  scarce  know  why; 
and  then  the  sun  breaks  out  on  them  again ;  and 
all  seems  well,  though  nothing  is  really  changed. 
Thus  it  must  be  for  a  season,  but  all  will  pass,  and 
endless  serenity  is  beyond.  Yes,  dear,  I  did  en- 
joy, for  novelty's  sake,  my  little  stay  in  London, 
and  the  convenience  it  afforded  me  of  doing  busi- 
ness and  seeing  folks.  Perhaps  I  enjoyed  the  as- 
sociations of  its  sights  and  sounds  with  by-gone, 
but  unforgotten  misery.  And  certainly  I  enjoyed 
the  comparison  of  its  turmoil  with  my  quiet  home, 
its  insipid  society  and  empty  converse,  with  the 
vivid,  deep  realities  that  form  my  delights  apart 
from  it.  It  is  well  to  look  upon  the  world  some- 
times, to  learn  how  blessed  we  are  to  have  escap- 
ed its  barrenness.  What  bliss  do  men  forego ! 
What  trash  do  they  take  up  with  instead  !  This  is 
the  conclusion  one  comes  to  everywhere,  be  it 
town  or  country.  Let  the  Christian  go  where  he 
will,  his  greatest  happiness  is  that  which  he  takes 
with  him  :  and  if  this  is  true  of  all,  how  doubly 
true  of  me,  whose  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual 
happiness  is  independent  of  place  or  circumstance, 
— is  that  which  the  world  did  not  give  and  cannot 
add  to.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  at  home  again. 
Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Fry. 


LETTERS.  237 

XVI— TO  MISS  *  *  * 

Hampstead,  June,  1830. 
My  dear  Girl, 

*  *  *  *  I  have  heard  this  story  before,  but  things 
are  so  diluted  in  the  retail  of  society,  I  am  glad  to 
have  it  from  the  manufactory,  I  was  going  to  say; 
but  that  is  to  prejudge  the  case.  I  have  also  been 
often  asked  before  what  I  say  to  it.  I  generally 
answer  that  "  I  say  nothing  at  present,  but  that  I 
do  not  believe  it."  I  will  not  put  you  off  with  so 
brief  an  answer;  I  am  not  likely  to  let  a  thing  of 
this  sort,  perhaps  of  any  sort,  pass  by  me  unconsi- 
dered, though  I  do  often  refuse  to  discuss  them 
with  my  young  friends ;  thinking  it  best  for  them 
to  hold  their  tongues,  whatever  it  may  be  for  me. 

I  have  a  very  decided  opinion  upon  this  subject, 
which  I  can  have  no  objection  to  give  when  seri- 
ously asked,  reserving  to  myself  the  right  to  change 
it,  if  ever  I  see  occasion.  According  to  Mr.  Ers- 
kine  himself,  two  things  are  to  be  considered  in 
estimating  the  truth  of  any  report,  viz.,  the  charac- 
ter of  the  narrator,  and  the  credibility  of  the  nar- 
ration. I  confess  that  to  me,  the  former  conside- 
ration weighs  all  against  the  reception  of  this  story. 
The  party  with  whom  it  originates,  and  among 
it  is  at  present  confined,  is  certainly  not  marked 
with  any  character  of  sobriety.  They  are  pious 
and  talented,  but  they  are  not  sober-minded ;  they 
love  novelty  better  than  their  daily  bread.  The  sim- 
12* 


J  38  LETTERS. 

plicity  of  divine  truth,  and  the  equal  dealings  of 
divine  providence,  are  not  to  their  taste;  they  have 
mystified  the  plainest  doctrines  of  the  gospel;  they 
have  made  war  upon  every  thing  common  and  re- 
ceived ;  they  have  quarrelled  with  their  mother- 
tongue,  because  it  can  be  understood.  Having  ' 
thrown  the  whole  church  into  confusion,  they  have 
called  their  own  uproar,  a  "sign  of  the  times?" 
and  denied  salvation  to  all  who  will  not  run  with 
them  to  like  excess  of  riot.  Such  a  party  is  ex- 
actly the  quarter  from  which  one  might  expect 
such  a  story,  and  the  last  from  which  one  would 
receive  it.  Then  the  character  of  these  miracles, 
so  much  in  unison  with  their  own  excited  feelings; 
their  expectation  of  the  Redeemer's  coming;  their 
love  of  His  appearing;  the  readiness  with  which 
enthusiastic  minds  always  expect  what  they  desire, 
and  imaginative  ones  fancy  what  they  expect; 
every  thing  identifies  the  offspring  with  its  parent- 
age, the  wonder-workers  with  their  wonders.  Pi- 
ous people  are  not  always  wise,  and  clever  people, 
by  reason  of  their  temperament,  are  peculiarly 
liable  to  extravagances  where  their  feelings  are 
interested.  So  far  from  considering  the  people  as 
credible  witnesses,  I  own  that  any  thing  coming 
from  them  at  this  moment,  would  wear  to  me  a 
suspected  character:  Then  the  probability  of  the 
narration  !  You  know  that  I  expect  as  fully  as 
they  do,  the  events  of  "  the  last  day  ;"  but  the  more 
I  believe  of  this,  the  more  I  am  upon  my  guard 
against  the  "Lo  here!  or  [,o  there!"  with  which 


LETTERS. 


139 


the  levity  of  men  anticipates  the  majestic  walk  of 
Deity.  I  know  that  God  can  do  what  he  will,  and 
will  do  what  he  has  promised;  but  I  am  accustom- 
ed to  adjust  my  faith  to  the  promise,  not  the  pro- 
mise to  my  faith,  as  is  the  fashion  now  with  some. 
Though  it  is  true  the  Scripture  nowhere  says  that 
miracles  shall  cease,  I  am  equally  sure,  it  nowhere 
says  that  they  shall  not.  We  can  only  judge  there- 
fore of  what  God  meant  to  do,  by  what  he  has 
done,  and  it  is  certain  they  have  ceased  for  many 
centuries.  Whether  God  recalled  these  gifts  for 
some  good  purpose  of  his  own,  or  whether  man 
forfeited  them  by  unbelief,  I  do  not  know, — for  the 
same  reason;  the  Scripture  lias  not  declared  it. 
If  the  former,  I  doubt  not  God  will  fully  manifest 
his  purpose,  to  restore  them  when  His  time  is  come; 
and  I  can  wait  till  he  does  so.  If  the  latter,  I  must 
have  some  evidence  that  the  faith  of  James  Mac- 
donald,  and  Mary  Campbell,  is  more  than  the  faith 
of  Luther  and  Latimer,  of  saints  and  martyrs,  of 
men  of  God  both  dead  and  living,  who,  with  equal 
zeal  and  sounder  minds,  have  followed  Christ,  but 
worked  no  miracles,  before  I  believe  that  increase 
of  faith  has  brought  back  the  gifts. 

There  is  one  who  says,  "  If  I  testify  of  myself 
my  testimony  is  not  true ;"  but  these  people  not 
only  testify  of  their  own  gifts,  but  give  the  credit 
of  them  to  their  own  faith,  which  they  represent 
to  be  more  than  all  the  faith  that  has  been  in  ex- 
ercise for  sixteen  or  seventeen  centuries.  Perhaps 
vou  will  sav.  "  But  hern  are  farts,  how  can  von 


1 40  LETTERS. 

account  for  the  delusion,  without  supposing  wilful 
imposture  in  the  witnesses?"  This  I  cannot,  nei- 
ther can  I  explain  how  Papal  Rome  performed  her 
well-attested  wonders,  nor  how  Joanna  Southcote's 
absurdities  deluded  40,000  people;  nor  howFrince 
Hohenlohe  made  the  lame  to  walk.  All  must  stand 
together  till  these  new  miracles  have  some  better 
ground  to  stand  on,  than  the  honest  credulity  of 
those  who  think  they  have  witnessed  them.  Re- 
specting the  recoveries,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
how  far  the  senses  may  be  the  dupes  of  the  ima- 
gination. I  have  seen  enough  of  this,  to  believe 
much  more;  and  without  a  miracle,  we  see  every 
day,  the  "  speculations  and  anticipations  of  physi- 
cians," baffled  by  the  recovery  of  the  patient,  from 
a  seeming  death-bed;  and  that  often  by  no  means 
but  strong  mental  excitement.  As  for  the  tongues, 
I  can  imagine  nothing  easier  for  man  or  woman, 
than  to  utter  what  neither  themselves  nor  any  one 
else  can  understand.  And  the  Chinese  characters! 
I  have  been  told  there  are  8000  in  the  language  ; 
she  must  be  an  unlucky  wight  indeed,  who  could 
not  hit  upon  something  like  some  of  them;  parti- 
cularly if  she  is  familiar  with  the  outside  of  a  chest 
of  tea.  I  must  really  wait  the  interpretation  of 
their  tongues,  and  the  use  to  be  made  of  them,  be- 
fore I  treat  this  part  as  any  thing  but  a  gross  ab- 
surdity, calculated  to  discredit  all  the  rest.  To 
tell  the  truth,  if  the  Spirit  would  constrain  some  of 
these  people  to  hold  their  tongues,  rather  than  to 
talk,  I  should  be  much  more  disposed  to  admit  a 


LETTERS  |41 

miracle  :  the  gift  of  silence  would  be  an  extraor- 
dinary blessing  to  the  Church  at  this  time.  Mr. 
E  *  *  #'s  letter  is  not  the  writing  of  a  sensible  man. 
His  talent  and  piety  we  all  know;  and  it  is  sad  in- 
deed, that  men  who  have  been  distinguished  in  the 
Church,  should  occupy  themselves  with  turning 
the  heads  of  silly  women,  by  over-excitement  of 
their  pious  feelings.  Respecting  the  young  clergy- 
man you  speak  of  as  having  propounded  these 
things  from  the  pulpit,  I  truly  wish  he  had  been 
older.  *  *  *  *  Till  you  are  forty,  dear  child — 
which  I  believe  will  be  some  days  yet — I  entreat 
you  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  these  things.  Be- 
lieve that  the  Lord  is  at  hand !  Love  his  appear- 
ing; watch  and  pray  that  you  enter  not  into  temp- 
tation ;  whether  he  come  at  the  second  watch,  or 
the  third,  be  you  ready;  be  sure  that  you  have 
oil  in  your  lamp,  and  then  wait  in  quietness,  till 
the  footsteps  of  our  Lord  himself  arouse  you;  but 
if  any  one  say  to  you,  "Lo  here !  Lo  there  !"  go 
not  after  them. 

Caroline  Fry. 


142 


LETTERS. 


XVII.— TO  MRS.  FRY. 


Paris,  Hotel  cTAngleterre. 

Juin  11,  1831. 

My  dear  Martha, 

My  letter  has  no  chance  of  a  welcome,  unless  it 
comes  from  Paris,  therefore  I  have  not  written  be- 
fore ;  and  therefore  I  make  haste  to  write  now ; 
for  we  have  been  long  on  the  road,  and  do  not 
intend  to  stay  here  long.  The  road,  indeed,  had 
as  much  interest  for  me  as  the  capital:  all  was 
new,  all  was  changed  from  the  moment  we  set 
foot  in  France.  I  was  pleased  at  Havre,  and  at 
Rouen  delighted  ;  but  with  nothing  more  than  with 
a  delightful  passage  of  ninety  miles  up  the  Seine, 
from  one  place  to  the  other,  amidst  the  most  en- 
chanting scenery.  However,  my  brother  will  lis- 
ten to  nothing  short  of  Paris,  and  I  suppose  him  in 
so  much  hurry  to  hear  of  that,  that  I  must  not 
pause  to  tell  you  by  the  way,  that  I  am  quite  w7ell, 
quite  happy,  too  happy  almost  for  this  passing 
world.  But  it  is  God  who  has  given  me  all,  and 
what  he  gives,  is  blessed,  is  safe,  and  may  be  taken 
fearlessly.  Well,  then,  of  Paris — what  of  Paris? 
I  think,  as  a  whole,  it  does  not  equal  my  expecta- 
tions ;  it  does  not  equal  London  ;  if  things  so  unlike 
may  be  compared  at  all.  But  there  are  things  in 
it  which  exceed  my  expectation.  As  contrasted 
with  London,  you  miss  the  air  of  wealth,  of  studied 


LETTERS. 


143 


luxury,  niceness,  and  abundance ;  the  splendid 
equipages,  the  magnificent  shops,  and  the  crowds 
of  well-dressed  people.  My  first  impression  of  the 
streets  was  of  meanness,  neglect,  and  inconve- 
nience. But  then  where  in  London  do  you  find 
the  picturesque ;  here  it  is  everywhere.  And  the 
public  buildings — these  exceed  my  expectation — 
so  many,  so  magnificent,  so  tasteful.  But  above 
all  things,  and  most  above  my  imagination,  is  Pere 
la  Chaise.  Perhaps  I  never  saw  anything  that  so 
satisfied  me.  I  thought  it  would  be  beautiful,  but 
artificial:  this  it  is  not;  it  is  a  forest  of  tombs;  it 
is  impossible  to  give  you  any  idea  of  what  it  is ; 
art  has  done  all  it  can,  and  nature  has  outdone  it. 
Wealth  has  adorned  its  sepulchre,  and  glory  re- 
corded its  deeds;  but  the  aspect  of  all  is  death: — 
the  air  is  still  as  the  grave,  wild,  ruinous,  and  ro- 
mantic. I  never  have  seen  anything  so  impres- 
sive. Of  much  that  I  have  seen  with  pleasure, 
and  shall  hereafter  be  glad  that  I  have  seen,  per- 
haps this  alone  I  shall  think  of  hereafter  with  a 
longing  wish  to  return  to  it.  After  all  its  boast- 
ings, Paris  derives  its  chief  interest  to  me,  from 
the  events  with  which  every  part  of  it  is  identified ; 
the  important  past,  the  overhanging  future;  every 
street,  every  palace  is  historic  ground,  so  closely 
associated  with  all  that  one  has  thought,  felt,  or 
read,  for  thirty  years  past.  I  never  can  disunite 
the  spot  from  the  deeds  that  have  been  done  in  it: 
and  thence  feel  intense  interest  everywhere.  As 
to  all  that  people  find  attractive  in  this  vain  capi- 


144 


LETTERS. 


tal,  I  see  nothing  in  it ;  I  feel  not  a  wish  to  stay, 
nor  a  wish  to  return  to  it  again :  though  I  shall 
always  be  glad  to  have  seen  it.  The  maniere  de 
vivre  is  pleasing  only  for  its  novelty.  It  is  very 
amusing  to  dine  a  few  times  at  a  table  d'hote,  and 
taste  the  savoury  varieties  of  a  coffee-house  din- 
ner; but  it  is  adverse  to  the  habits,  tastes,  and 
feelings  of  our  English  nature:  it  is  all  show,  all 
outside,  all  frivolity  and  nonsense.  And  the  peo- 
ple— they  are  so  ugly,  so  unnoble,  and  withal  have 
such  ill-shapen  heads,  I  am  already  tired  of  the 
sight  of  them.  There  is  not  the  slightest  appear- 
ance of  evil  working  at  present;  but  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  traverse  the  courts  and  galleries  of  these 
magnificent  palaces,  without  asking  one-self  what 
murderous  deeds  are  to  be  done  there  next.  To 
those  who  think  that  Bonaparte  "  is  not  and  yet 
is,"  there  is  something  very  striking  in  his  unfin- 
ished works;  the  monuments  of  his  greatness 
standing  as  he  left  them;  half-built,  the  scaffolding 
still  round  them,  as  if  they  waited  his  returning. 
The  most  exquisite  building,  to  my  taste,  is  St. 
Genevieve,  now  called  the  Pantheon,  desecrated 
by  tombs  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  the  so-called 
great.  We  have  been  to  St.  Cloud  to-day,  which 
is  really  delightful.  I  suppose  nobody  will  be  so 
foolish  as  to  compare  the  gardens  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg and  Tuilleries  with  the  Regent's  and  Hyde 
Park ;  but  there  is  an  effect  in  the  artificial  alleys 
and  close  shaven  trees,  and  formal  avenues,  which 
I  did   not  calculate   upon :  far  enough  from   the 


LETTERS.  J45 

cheerful  beauty  of  our  plantations,  there  is  still  a 
touch  of  sublimity  in  them — dark,  gloomy,  unna- 
tural, they  seem  the  work  of  other  ages,  and  of 
other  beings :  consequently  excite  more  interest 
than  I  anticipated.  This  is  a  poor  sketch,  written 
in  haste,  and  at  random :  but  we  are  out  all  day, 
and  tired  enough  by  night.  Accept  this  fare,  and 
excuse  this  unworthy  epistle.  It  is  the  most  I  can 
do.  Perhaps  it  is  more  interesting  to  you  than  if 
I  had  filled  it,  as  I  might,  with  thanks  and  acknow- 
ledgments for  all  your  kindness,  and  pleasant  re- 
miniscences of  Desford  festivities.  My  beloved 
husband  cannot  forget  it,  and  will  not  forego  the 
wish  and  hope  to  visit  it  again :  it  has  made  so 
great  an  impression. 

Kindest  love  to  my  brother,  and  whoever  of  the 
party   are    still   about   you.     You    must  enjoy,   I 
think,  a  season  of  tranquillity,  after  the  distraction 
we  imposed  upon  you.     Excuse  all  else. 
Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


13 


1 4Q  LETTERS. 

XVIII.— TO  MRS.  *  *  *. 

Keavil,  1832. 

My  dearest  Friend, 
I  think  I  promised  you  a  letter,  and  I  think  you 
wish  for  one ;  if  in  this  last  I  err,  it  is  a  pardona- 
ble offence,  since  it  only  assumes  that  you  think  of 
me  absent,  and  desire  to  know  what  I  am  doing. 
Indeed,  dear,  I  am  doing  nothing  but  enjoying  my- 
self, and  giving  thanks, — wondering  thanks,  to 
Him  who  fills  my  cup  so  full,  and  gives  me  so 
much  capability  of  tasting  its  sweetness.  Thus 
far  all  has  been  prosperous  with  us,  and  all  de- 
lightful; though  we  have  not  yet  reached  the  point 
of  attraction,  the  Scottish  Highlands.  But  how 
much  there  is  to  delight  one  everywhere,  when 
one  is  in  the  mind  to  be  delighted:  when  no  clouds 
without  or  mists  within,  obscure  the  charms  of 
nature's  prodigality  of  beauty.  I  was  immoderate- 
ly happy  at  Cambridge,  where  1  had  not  antici- 
pated much  pleasure ;  with  Scarborough,  I  was, 
as  I  expected,  greatly  pleased :  we  took  a  lodging 
there  for  five  days,  and  greatly  enjoyed  the  inter- 
val of  repose.  Our  voyage  thence  to  Edinburgh 
was  most  favourable;  with  the  exception  of  two 
hours,  I  remained  all  night  upon  deck.  But  Edin- 
burgh— I  suppose  you  have  seen  it — if  not,  I  shall 
not  describe  it,  partly  because  I  cannot,  and  part- 
ly because  all  descriptions  are  tiresome.     Be  it 


LETTERS.  1 47 

enough,  that  I  lost  my  senses  at  the  first  sight  of 
it,  and  have  not  quite  recovered  them.  We  so- 
journed here  six  days,  and  now  are  staying  with 
my  beloved  friends  in  Fifeshire.  Dear  things,  it 
is  a  melancholy  pleasure  to  see  them ;  and  if  one 
had  not  cause  enough  and  sense  enough  of  grati- 
tude before,  we  well  might  learn  it  here ;  in  com- 
paring our  health,  and  vigour,  and  cheerful  capa- 
city for  enjoyment,  with  the  blighted  helplessness 
of  these  sweet  loves,  who,  deprived  of  much  that 
was  most  dear,  have  not  power  to  enjoy  what  is 
left. 

Tobermory,  Aug.  2. 
O  dear !  I  never  had  time  to  finish  this  letter, 
and  I  found  that  if  I  had,  I  could  not  tell  you  when 
we  should  be  in  England,  so  I  have  carried  it  in 
my  pocket  till  it  is  nearly  worn  out ;  still  I  am 
anxious  to  acquit  me  of  my  promise.  We  have 
had  no  letters  since  we  left  home,  having  ordered 
them  to  Glasgow,  where  we  shall  not  be  till  next 
Saturday.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  you  all  we  have 
done  and  seen  since  I  wrote  the  above.  Our  jour- 
ney has  been  most  successful  throughout;  it  has 
been  without  accident  or  impediment.  You  know 
Loch  Katrine  and  the  Trosachs,  and  perhaps  you 
know  the  yet  greater  beauties  of  Loch  Lomond. 
We  spent  last  Sunday  in  Inverary,  the  most  en- 
chanting of  places.  We  were  at  Staffa  and  Iona 
yesterday,  and  to-morrow  really  start  on  our  way 
homeward;  we  think  to  spend  the  next  Sunday  at 


14S 


LETTERS. 


Glasgow :  and  if  we  do,  I  will  try  to  hear  your 
favourite  Dr.  Wardlaw;  indeed  we  have  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  hear  a  good  sermon  everywhere, 
except  at  Cambridge,  the  school  of  divinity.  On 
Monday  or  Wednesday,  nothing  occurring  to  pre- 
vent it,  we  intend  to  embark  for  Liverpool.  There 
I  hope  we  shall  not  be  detained  at  all,  but  proceed 
to  Bangor.  *  #  #  # 

I  do  not  know  what  will  become  of  us  beyond 
Bangor,  we  shall  probably  be  tired  of  moving,  and 
stay  at  some  place  in  Wales  till  our  time  is  out. 
I  do  not  feel  any  expectation  of  meeting  with  you  ; 
but  am  wishing  that  at  least  you  should  know 
where  we  are.  To  accomplish  which,  we  have 
made  two  attempts  to  buy  a  pennyworth  of  pens, 
the  purchase  has  supplied  a  stick ;  with  which  I 
finish.  The  Laird  of  the  place  has  just  been,  I  do 
not  know  why,  to  ask  us  to  dinner;  and  at  six  in 
the  morning  we  start  for  Oban.  All  these  little 
towns  are  so  pretty,  I  know  not  which  is  best — ac- 
commodations generally  good,  and  conveyances 
procured  with  facility :  supposing  you  can  ride  in 
a  cart  and  walk  over  a  mountain.  The  weather, 
except  a  little  too  cold  sometimes,  has  been  de- 
lightful, we  have  not  had  an  hour's  hinderance 
from  it.  *  #  #  1  must  make  free  to  say,  no  High- 
land lass  can  better  get  up  a  mountain  than  your 
humble  servant.  Indeed  the  air  is  so  exhilarating, 
you  gain  strength  at  every  mile,  instead  of  losing 
it.  Farewell,  in  haste.  If  you  are  in  Wales,  let 
me  hear  of  it  at  Liverpool,  or  at  Bangor,  should 


LETTERS. 


149 


this  letter  reach  you  in  time  to  do  so.  Tell  the 
world  of  our  well-being  ;  this  is  my  first  and  only 
letter  since  I  started. 

Ever  affectionately, 

C.  Wilson. 


XIX— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

January,  1833. 

Dearest  Friend, 
It  is  quite  time  for  another  "  how  d'ye  do ;"  but 
I  have  heard  that  you  are  well  again,  else  I  should 
have  inquired  before.  Lady  *  *  *  says  you  will 
not  come  and  see  anybody  :  so  to  see  you  I  must 
not  hope.  It  has  not  appeared  practicable  for  us 
to  come  to  you  before  going  to  Bristol,  otherwise 
I  was  not  unmindful  of  your  kind  wishes  on  that 
head.  Now  it  seems  as  if  we  should  go  on  the 
Saturday  of  next  week,  or  on  the  Monday  of  the 
week  following  ;  and  we  think  to  return  within  a 
fortnight ;  if  you  have  anything  to  send  or  to  say, 
make  it  ready.  We  shall  of  course  see  Mrs.  *  *  *, 
if  she  is  at  home.     I  dare  say  you  will  hear  some 

report   of  our  well-being   from   the   S s,  who 

have  just  left  our  near  neighbourhood.     Tell  me 

of  her  health,  if  you  know,  when  you  write,  for 

I  feel  really  interested  about  it ;   her's  is   such  a 

13* 


]  50  LETTERS. 

dreadful  complaint ;  I  can  only  wonder  how  so 
much  pain  is  endured  as  it  is.  I  do  not  bear 
bodily  pain  myself,  which  makes  me  feel  more  for 
others.  What  a  mercy  to  have  none  to  bear  ;  that 
is  the  burthen  of  my  song ;  but  I  do  not  mean  to 
be  talking  of  myself,  I  must  refer  to  your  note  to 
talk  of  you.  Dear  thing,  I  understand  it  all.  More 
consciences  are  stained  with  "flagrant  sin,"  than 
we  know  of:  and  doubtless  what  you  say  is  true  ; 
the  stain  remains  within,  when  it  is  blotted  from 
the  book  of  heaven,  still  the  sad  memory  is  a  cure 
for  worse  things  than  itself,  most  bitter  as  it  is. 
It  is  a  perpetual  antidote  to  pride,  an  ever-ready 
reproof  to  discontent :  a  good  help  to  penitence 
and  self-renunciation ;  and  above  all,  it  is  that 
which,  in  its  very  bitterness,  makes  the  heart  to 
run  over,  in  its  fulness  of  gratitude  for  redeeming 
love,  and  preferential  grace.  Mr.  Howells  said, 
if  he  were  to  define  salvation  in  few  words,  he 
would  say  it  was  "deliverance  from  ourselves." 
Now  it  is  when  we  see  ourselves  in  that  abomi- 
nable, detestable  light,  in  which  the  memory  of 
gross  transgression  places  us,  that  we  perceive 
the  full  value  of  this  deliverance — this  salvation. 
When  could  David  have  felt  it  as  he  did  when 
Nathan  said  to  him,  "  The  Lord  also  has  put  away 
thy  sin."  It  is  true  there  was  a  "  nevertheless" — 
— which  followed — as  I  believe  there  generally  is 
on  sin  indulged — a  "nevertheless"  of  temporal 
evil,  incident  upon  it.  But  how  is  it  lightened  still 
by  that  first  sentence,  "  The  Lord  has  put  away 


LETTERS. 


151 


thy  sin."  This  has  been  written  a  day  or  two, 
and  never  got  finished  ;  never  mind.  I  do  not 
think  we  shall  go  before  Monday.  Will  you  be 
so  kind  as  to  give  me  again  the  receipt  for  making 
Scotch  woodcock,  for  some  of  my  former  cooks 
took  it  off  with  them. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


XX.— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

January,  1833. 

Dearest  Dear, 
I  should  not  have  treated  you  with  such  neglect- 
ful silence,  but  our  Hampstead  visit  being  put  off 
and  still  uncertain,  on  account  of  our  friend's 
health  there,  I  knew  not  how  to  answer  you :  and 
still  I  do  not  know,  but  hope  to  do  so  on  my  hus- 
band's coming  home.  I  only  know  now  that  we 
always  like  to  come  to  you,  and  that  we  have 
some  reasons  for  going  out  next  week, — but  this 
hereafter.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  better.  No,  in- 
deed, dearest,  I  shall  not  tell  you  that  having 
Christ,  and  being  therefore  rich  in  hope,  you  can 
want  nothing  more.  I  know  that  when  sure,  quite 
sure  of  the  pardon  of  sin,  we  do  want  more — we 
want  to  be  rid  of  it.  Such  is  the  beautiful  design 
of  God.  We  are  safe  in  being  justified;  but  we 
are  not  happy,  but  in  proportion  as  we  are  sancti- 


1 52  LETTERS. 

fied  ;  the  former  satisfies  our  fears,  but  our  de- 
sires are  restless  for  the  latter.  As  the  former  is 
the  first  act  of  divine  love,  it  is  naturally  the  first 
thing  a  believer  seeks  to  be  assured  of;  and  when 
he  has  assured  himself  of  pardon  and  justification 
in  Christ,  he  very  often  fancies  for  a  time  that  he 
has  the  whole  of  salvation,  and  is  sanctified.  But 
this  does  not  last ;  he  finds  out  as  you  do,  that  he 
wants  more ;  he  wants  holiness  and  cannot  be 
happy  without  it.  But  then  what  a  comfort  that 
the  one  is  secure  as  the  other,  although  a  slower 
process ;  that  the  same  blood  which  bought  our 
justification,  and  bestows  it  at  once,  bought  our 
sanctification, — the  other  half  of  one  and  the  same 
salvation, — and  must  bestow  it  ultimately.  This 
is  a  thought  full  of  gladness  when  the  sense  of 
pardoned  sin  still  wearies  and  torments  the  con- 
science. For  that  other  source  of  bitterness,  who 
can  feel  for  you  as  I  can  1  Who  has  suffered 
from  it  intenser  anguish  1  I  am  bold  enough  to 
believe  no  one.  I  remember  a  poem  in  some  late 
number  of  somebody's  magazine,  written  under  a 
temptation  like  that  you  speak  of,  of  intensest 
anguish,  by  reason  of  unanswered  prayer :  and 
well  it  recals  to  me  the  agony  of  the  time  at  which 
I  wrote  it.  Yes,  dear,  I  can  feel  fully  for  you; 
but,  after  the  issue  of  all  my  own  sorrows,  can  I 
despair  for  you?  I  know  what  Satan  whispers 
at  such  moments ; — either  there  is  no  God  that 
answers  prayer,  or  that  he  breaks  his  promise,  or 
that  we  are  not  of  his  children,  to  whom  he  made 


LETTERS. 


153 


them.  But  Satan  was  a  liar  from  the  beginning. 
He  used  to  tell  me  all  this  at  times,  and  bid  me 
give  up  the  rejected  suit.  But  I  used  to  plead 
these  lies  before  God,  as  a  reason  why  he  should 
vindicate  his  own  truth  and  glory  in  disproving 
them  ;  and  I  still  went  on,  though  sometimes  I 
could  do  no  more  than  pray  that  I  might  not  give 
up  praying.  I  do  not  tell  you  not  to  grieve;  for 
I  should  have  thought  ill  of  one  who  could  have 
told  me  so  :  but  I  do  tell  you  not  to  despond.  I  re- 
proach myself  now  with  having  done  so. — I  won- 
der how  it  was  I  did  not  always  believe  that  God 
would  hear  me ;  that  I  did  not  always  know  He 
would  grant  the  prayer  at  last ;  and  sometimes  I 
think  if  I  had  prayed  with  more  confidence  and 
assurance,  I  should  perhaps  have  been  heard  soon- 
er, for  that  is  an  important  word,  "Whatsoever  ye 
ask,  believing.  I  wish  we  were  nearer,  that  I 
might  break  your  loneliness  as  you  used  to  break 
mine.  How  little  that  word  has  to  do  with  num- 
bers. How  lonely  I  have  been,  when  every  hour 
of  every  day  was  passed  in  company — compared 
with  now,  that  the  greatest  part  of  all  my  waking 
time  is  passed  literally  alone  :  though  still  at  times 
I  wish  it  otherwise. 

Our  going  to  Hampshire  is'still  postponed,  and 
our  going  to  Bristol  not  likely  to  be  possible   be- 
fore this  month  is   out :  and  my  husband  does  not 
seem  to  think  we  can  fix  to  come  to  you  just  now. 
Ever  affectionately  yours. 


154 


LETTERS. 


XXI. TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

April,  1833. 
My  dearest  Friend, 

I  am  only  reconciled  lo  seeing  so  little  of  you, 
by  the  fact  that  I  see  as  much  of  you  as  of  any- 
body. Your  information  disappointed  me,  inas- 
much as  I  was  in  the  act  of  asking  you  to  name  a 
day  that  you  could  spend  with  me.  I  now  regret 
that  I  so  long  delayed  it ;  for  which  the  only 
reason  was  the  prolonged  coldness.  Though  I 
knew  you  might  think  it  worth  while  to  come  and 
see  me  in  any  weather,  I  could  not  like  to  ask  it  of 
your  party  till  summer-like  evenings  should  make 
the  distance  of  little  consequence,  so  I  waited  on, 
and  now  it  is  too  late;  we  are  going  to  town  till 
Tuesday ;  and  then  you  will  be  gone, — you  do  not 
say  how  long.  Let  me  know  the  first  of  your  re- 
turn, and  promise  to  come  before  we  go  from 
home,  which,  if  we  can  let  our  house,  will  be  at 
Midsummer ;  whether  for  the  Rhine,  or  Scotland, 
or  elsewhere.  #*#*####  The  book  I  return 
with  thanks  and  commendations,  it  is  very  good. 
As  I  was  going  to  observe  just  now,  it  will  give 

the  H s  much  pleasure  to  see  you,  and  show 

Mr. anything  in  Bristol  he  may  wish,  except 

the  manufactory,  which  is  burned  down,  and  which 
was  remarkably  well  worth  seeing.  I  am  sorry 
you  are  ill,  dear,  but  change  always  does  you 
good ;  I  am  a  little  fretful  not  to  see  you.     I  am 


LETTERS. 


155 


rather  bustled  at  last  in  preparing  my  book,  which 
I  shall  hope  to  present  to  you  before  you  go  ;  if 
they  do  not  disappoint  me.  May  it  be  blessed  of 
God  to  the  good  of  somebod}',  which  is  my  first 
wish  about  it  :  for  I  cannot  but  recollect  that  I  am 
now  receiving  much,  everyway,  and  rendering 
very  little,  except  in  gratitude  and  praise.  So  I 
pray  that  God's  blessing  may  be  continued  on  my 
works.  Thank  you,  dear,  Mr.  Wilson  has  had  a 
cold,  but  is  recovered,  and  I  am  quite  wTell ;  I  am 
still  susceptible,  as  I  used  to  be,  of  cold,  taking  it 
very  often  ;  but  with  my  general  health  and  spirits, 
it  never  signifies  as  it  used  to  do,  and  is  soon  over. 
One's  ailments  are  trifles  wThen  one  is  quite  happy, 
they  seem  nothing  when  I  remember  how  every 
little  addition  of  illness  used  to  overbear  me. 

I  suppose  poor  Emma will  feel  a  good  deal 

the  loss  of  her  child  ;  it  is  her  first  sorrow,  which 
usually  falls  heavy.  It  may  please  God  to  bless  it 
to  the  restoration  of  her  reason  :  there  is  nothing 
like  a  painful  reality  to  dissipate  delusions.  Fare- 
well, dearest,  the  peace  of  God  be  with  you  on  the. 
way.     Let  me  know  of  your  return. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


156 


LETTERS. 


XXII.— TO  MR.  H.  *  *  * 

Blackheath  Park,  Feb.  30,  1835. 

My  dear  Sir, 
It  gave  me  the  most  real  pleasure  to  get  a  letter 
from  you :  hearsay  reports  are  never  satisfactory, 
and  I  have  thought  about  you  much  oftener  than 
I  have  been  able  to  get  intelligence.  It  was  very 
thoughtful  of  you  to  write  yourself.  That  you  are 
already  better,  gives  the  fairest  promise  for  the 
future.  "  Study  to  be  quiet ;" — that  must  be  your 
text — and  "  Hope  unto  the  end."  Hope  and  quiet- 
ness are  a  compound  of  wonderful  efficacy  in  the 
cure  of  diseases,  bodily  as  well  as  mental.  But 
we  are  such  silly  children,  or  as  Howels  used  to 
say,  such  "  fractious  brats,"  that,  when  we  cannot 
walk,  we  do  not  choose  to  be  carried,  and  mightily 
fatigue  ourselves  with  kicking.  Sickness  seems 
to  be  the  one  bitter  among  your  many  sweets;  the 
extent  to  which  you  have  suffered  it  amongst  you 
is  really  remarkable;  but  I  am  sure  you  accept  it 
as  good,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  every  one, 
that  the  more  suffering  they  have  had,  the  less 
there  is  to  come,  assured  that  it  is  strictly  mea- 
sured to  the  necessity, — of  course  I  speak  of  the 
children  of  God;  He  who  is  so  prodigal  of  all  good 
things,  is  parsimonious  of  inflictions  where  He 
loves.  We  call  our  trials  much  and  long,  but  that 
is  in  earthly  language ; — terms  will  have  a  very 


LETTERS. 


157 


different  meaning  by  and  bye;  I  suppose  we  shall 
sometimes  wonder  at  the  ideas  of  length  and 
greatness  we  have  attached  to  such  mere  instants 
of  duration  endless.  I  can  believe  no  small  part 
of  your  trial  consists  in  your  separation  from  your 
dear  babes:   but   they  are    kept   for  you.     Poor 

's  is  an  affliction  indeed.     All  God's  people 

must  surfer  a  good  deal  before  they  can  be  fully 
able  to  administer  to  the  need  of  others.  Thank 
you  for  all  your  kind  thoughts  about  us,  we  are 
all  well — always  well.  It  has  pleased  God  to  give 
us  the  sweet  and  the  bitter  separately,  while  others 
have  it  mixed,  so  now  the  land  overflows  with 
milk  and  honey  ;  and  what  is  not  always  the  case, 
I  have  so  much  of  peace  w7ithin,  together  with 
prosperity  without,  that  if  it  were  not  for  a  certain 
earthly  remembrance  called  sin,  I  might  sometimes 
fancy  I  am  gone  to  heaven;  as  it  is,  I  can  only 
hope  that  heaven  has  come  to  me,  with  some 
bright  glimpses  of  its  eternal  promises.  I  have 
been  very  busy  getting  a  new  work  to  the  press, 
and  other  matters ;  I  meant  it  for  something  to  be 
read  in  families,  but  my  books  do  not  always  turn 
out  what  they-are  meant  to  be  :  and  if  people  pre- 
fer to  read  it  in  their  beds,  which  is  very  likely,  I 
cannot  help  it ;  you  will  hear  more  of  it  about  the 
1st  of  May.  I  must  write,  whether  the  world  will 
read  or  not,  for  mere  want  of  something  to  do. 
*  *  *  How  sad  a  close  of  poor  living's  sometime 
brilliant  promise!  When  we  think  of  him  as  he  once 
appeared,  "  a  giant  prepared  to  run  his  course," 
14 


158 


LETTERS. 


now  extinguished  in  his  own  darkness,  dead  in  his 
mischief,  a  blot  removed  from  the  Church  of  Christ 
below,  we  hope  made  white  in  heaven,  but  unable 
to  efface  the  evil  impress  of  his  footsteps  here, 
surely  it  is  a  lesson  ;  a  warning  not  to  venture  on 
unbeaten  paths,  to  walk  humbly,  simply,  safely,  in 
the  vulgar  track,  as  these  spiritual  aspirants  deem 
it.  The  first  steps  in  error  seem  so  trifling,  so 
little  dangerous, — only  for  the  sake  of  inquiry — 
only  for  pure  love  of  truth,  perhaps  for  love  of 
talk,  oftener  than  anything  for  love  of  novelty. 
May  not  this  awful  exhibition  of  the  issue,  be  a 
message  from  heaven  to  give  notice  of  that  snare, 
the  favourite  artifice  of  Satan  in  this  restless  age. 
I  look  upon  it  that  poor  Irving  was  as  much  the 
victim  of  his  own  ambition  as  ever  was  hero  dead 
on  the  field  of  battle.  "  Let  them  that  think  they 
stand,  take  heed  lest  they  fall."  I  should  like  to 
hear  from  you  again;  our  united  kindest  love  to 

Mrs.  

Ever  yours  sincerely, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS.  |29 

XXIII.— TO  MR.  H  *  *  * 

Blackheath,  Feb.  1,  1838. 
My  dear  Sir, 
I  hear  often  that  you  want  a  long  letter,  though 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  you  want  it  to  be 
about.  When  I  received  the  pamphlet  you  were 
so  kind  as  to  send  me,  I  thought  it  might  be  a  chal- 
lenge to  a  controversy,  and  read  it  in  expectation 
of  finding  whereof  to  doubt  and  so  whereof  to 
write;  but  as  it  merely  goes  to  prove  that  where- 
of I  have  never  doubted,  I  can  only  express  my 
full  approbation  of  the  same.  If,  as  I  believe,  bap- 
tism is  the  rite  of  admission  to  the  external  church, 
as  circumcision  was,  I  cannot  entertain  the  small- 
est doubt  that  it  should  be  administered  to  infants. 
If  it  were,  as  I  believe  it  is  not,  a  rite  of  admission 
to  the  invisible  fold  of  Christ.  I  should  consider 
the  subject  farther.  But  then  what  am  I  to  write 
about?  Of  you  and  yours  I  should  like  it  to  be; 
but  then  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  you.  I  never 
see,  scarcely  bear  of  you,  and  so  much  are  we 
apart,  we  have  scarcely  a  word  in  common  to 
make  talk  about;  and  thus  there  is  but  one  thing 
left  to  talk  of,  my  own  individual  self,  a  subject  I 
never  liked.  Once  I  thought  it  intrusive  to  talk  of 
my  own  sorrows,  and  now  I  think  it  will  be  sick- 
ening to  talk  of  my  own  joys.  Mistaken  perhaps 
in  both  cases;  since  it  is  all  one  storv  of  Divine 


160 


LETTERS. 


love  and  faithfulness.  But  you  at  least  have  learnt 
this  story  through;  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  kept 
through  storms  and  sadness,  and  in  the  worst  of 
times  to  be  enabled  to  hold  fast  your  faith,  and  to 
be  raised  from  shipwreck.  And  you  know  that  in 
the  brightest  days,  amidst  flowers  and  sunshine, 
and  all  surrounding  joys,  there  is  one  joy  that  so 
much  exceeds  all  other,  one  good  so  far  more  pre- 
cious than  all  the  rest;  the  very  light  of  earth 
seems  but  as  darkness  by  the  side  of  it;  in  short, 
I  need  not  tell  you,  that  what  in  adversity  was  all, 
in  prosperity  is  all  still ;  yet  this  is  pretty  well  the 
whole  I  have  just  now  to  say.  Year  after  year 
goes  on,  and  no  shadow  comes  across  my  path — 
no  sickness  within  my  doors,  or  care  within  my 
bosom ;  while  the  vision  of  eternity  is  like  an  ho- 
rizon that  grows  clearer  and  brighter  as  the  calm 
increases;  I  know  it  cannot  be  always  thus:  and 
whenever  a  change  comes,  it  will  not  take  me  by 
surprise;  but  while  it  does  not  come,  let  God  have 
the  praise  of  his  M?imeasured,  immeasurable  good- 
ness to  the  most  unworthy.  We  are  looking  for- 
ward, though  not  yet  quite  with  certainty,  to  a 
change  of  residence;  for  one,  if  it  be  granted  us, 
which  will  add  yet  more  to  my  already  full  cup  of 
pleasure ;  such  a  sweet  house  upon  the  heath,  now 
building,  to  be  ready  about  Midsummer,  a  very 
PoeVs  spot :  which,  by  the  blessing  of  God  upon 
my  works,  I  shall  myself  be  able  to  furnish  and 
complete;  then  if  you  do  not  come  and  see  us, 
you  are  people  of  no  taste  at  all.     But  I  wish  you 


LETTERS. 


1G1 


would  not  wait  for  it,  but  come  soon  and  see  what 
it  is  to  be;  it  is  so  few  years  since  you  furnished, 
perhaps  you  can  give  us  some  hints  for  conveni- 
ence, and  economy,  and  so  on.  I  should  like  to 
know  how  you  like  your  house  and  neighbourhood, 
with  all  the  etceteras  of  place.  It  might  be  as 
well,  by-the-bye,  against  you  want  another  letter, 
to  remind  you,  that  in  these  days  of  exchange  and 
barter,  the  surest  way  to  procure  a  commodity  is 
to  give  an  equivalent, — letter  for  letter;  long  for 
long ;  and  short  for  short.  With  kind  love  to  your 
happy  group,  Mrs.  H.  in  particular, 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir,  ever  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XXIV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

BlacJcheath,  April  1,  1836. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  was  much  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  though 
you  are  very  bold,  methinks,  to  brave  my  scorn: 
Not  like  Hastings  ! — monstrous  !  That  is,  you  do 
not.  like  the  influenza,  and  the  rain,  and  the  cold. 
I  should  not  wonder  if  a  little  sunshine  make  you 
change  your  mind.  Until  the  last  week,  we  have 
had  incessant  wet,  with  a  thermometer  scarcely 
above  the  freezing-point — enough  to  extinguish  all 
difference  of  place.  But  I  am  afraid  the  secret  of 
14* 


IfJ;>  LETTER*. 

your  dissatisfaction  is  in  your  health  ;  I  have 
known  many  who  cannot  be  well  at  Hastings ; 
whereupon  I  intend  to  forgive  you.  and  very  dis- 
interestedly advise  you  to  come  home.  By  the 
way,  were  you  ever  anywhere  that  you  did  not 
wish  to  come  home?  If  not,  Hastings  is  acquit- 
ted. I,  who  love  to  be  abroad,  find  the  desire  for 
home  returns  en  every  cessation  of  pleasurable 
excitement :  by  which  I  judge  that  though  pleasure 
wanders,  happiness  stays  at  home;  for  when  we 
are  most  happy,  we  least  desire  incitement  to  plea- 
surable feelings.  What  these  last  are  to  be  made 
of,  nobody  can  decide  for  another;  you  want  a 
little  more  couleur  de  rose  to  mix  up  yours ;  my 
farthest  remembered  pleasure  was  the  earliest 
primrose  or  the  first  blown  snow-drop ;  and  by  the 
returning  strength  of  these  first  tastes,  I  think  I 
must  be  near  upon  my  second  childhood.  I  have 
delayed  my  letter  some  days,  because  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  we  are  beginning  to  move.  *  *  What 
children  we  are  ;  six  months  ago,  I  thought  I  was 
too  happy  to  want  any  thing;  two  months  later  I 
took  to  wanting  that  house,  and  have  been  teazed 
and  troubled  about  it  ever  since;  so  wise  it  is  to 
let  our  hearts  go  after  the  things  that  do  not  sig- 
nify! Rain,  rain,  no  hope  for  Hastings;  but,  how- 
ever dirty  you  find  it,  I  can  assure  you,  though  I 

have  not  been  there,  you  will  find  dirty  also. 

Hail,  and  snow,  and  storm  :  this  is  our  portion  as 
well  as  yours,  without  the  waves  for  compensa- 
tion.    I  ought  to  write  yon  n  budget  of  news,  but 


we  do  not  gossip  in  these  parts,  and  know  nothing 
about  any  body.  The  only  thing  I  am  sure  of,  is 
that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  back.  I  am  afraid 
your  poor  child  will  scarcely  have  foond  her  flow- 
ers. IXo  doubt,  you  are  going  on  upon  a  rather 
I  should  not.  as  yc  u  know,  have  been 
acted  upon  as  you  were,  for  the  very  thing  that 
moved  you  disgusted  me  ;  but  I  think  it  very  likely 
that  change  and  interruption  would  have  dune  the 
ehild  more  harm  than  can  result  from  continuance 
for  another  year:  which,  if  you  think  so.  will  re- 
concile you  to  many  disagreeables.         "  ~  

Come,  here  is  more  news  than  I  thought  of,  pro- 
vided you  did  not  know  it  all  before.  Have  you 
not  found  it  very  difficult  to  write  one  letter  to  a 
person,  though  very  easy  to  write  a  dozen :  just  as 
persons  who  meet  seldom  kr.  >w  to  make 

talk,  while  those  who  live  together  are  always 
talking.  On  this  account,  society  would  be  better 
if  we  saw  fewer  people,  and  saw  them  oftener — 

would  it  not  !     I  can  only  inform  Mrs.  S .  that 

her  house  has  not  disappeared  :  the  green  palisades 
went  down  and  came  up  again  yesterday.  I  can- 
not guess  when  you  will  get  this  letter,  because  it 
is  too  full  for  postage:  but  observe,  that  I  finish  it 

this  1st  day  of  April,  and  am.  my  dear  Lady , 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

Caroline  Wilson, 


2Q4  LETTERS. 


XXIV.— TO  MISS  *  *  * 

My  dear  young  Friend,* 

#  #  #  *  * 

*****  The  impression  you  have  received, 
and  the  resolution  you  have  come  to,  are,  I  trust, 
of  God ;  and  if  they  are,  He  will  confirm  and  bless 
them  to  your  abundant  happiness  now,  and  to  your 
everlasting  joy.  The  disposition  to  religion  I  ob- 
serve in  all  of  you,  is  very  pleasing  to  me.  Still 
more  pleased  shall  I  be  to  know,  it  has  become  the 
"  one  thing"  for  which  you  live,  (and  it  alone  is 
worthy)  on  which  you  set  your  heart,  and  from 
which  you  seek  your  happiness.  For,  believe  me, 
dear,  what  by  experience  you  cannot  perhaps  have 
learned;  the  differences  between  the  godly  and 
the  ungodly;  the  believing  and  the  unbelieving; 
the  regenerate,  and  the  unregenerate,  are  not 
shades,  but  contrasts  ;  not  parallel  or  intersecting, 
but  continually  diverging  paths.  To  enter  and  to 
tread  the  narrow,  but  joyous  way  of  life,  needs 
only  such  a  determination  as  you  express;  but  it 
does  need  it.  May  yours,  dear  girl,  be  true  and 
permanent;  and  do   believe,  that  if  ever,  on  that 

*  The  letters,  of  which  the  following  are  extracts,  were 
written  to  a  young  lady  of  considerable  talent,  and  of  an  im- 
aginative character — but  displaying,  with  great  anxiety,  to 
learn  the  way  of  truth  and  peace,  some  morbid  feelings  on 
the  subject  of  religion,  and  erroneous  views  of  the  duties  it 
enjoined. 


LETTERS.  165 

subject,  I  can  afford  you  light  or  help,  or  comfort, 
it  will  not  be  put  to  the  account  of  idle  gossip  or 
scribbling. 


March  17,  1838. 

*  *  *  If  angels  in  heaven  rejoice  over  every 
soul  recovered,  can  it  be  that  there  should  not  be 
joy  in  the  heart  of  one — unworthy,  and  of  herself 
incapable,  when  allowed  to  perceive  that  she  has 
been  in  any  measure  the  medium  of  renovating 
grace.  If  my  young  friend  remembers  how  dear  to 
Jesus  must  be  the  souls  of  his  redeemed:  and  how 
dear  to  me  should  be  all  that  is  dear  to  Him  ;  it  will 
not  require  more  words  to  convince  her,  that  her's 
was  a  welcome  letter.  I  can  confidently  commit 
her  to  Him,  who  will  not  leave  to  unfruhfulness 
his  own  engrafted  bud,  or  let  its  fair  promise  fail. 
Every  station  has  its  peculiar  duties;  every  indi- 
vidual his  peculiar  gifts;  there  is  not  one  so  lowly 
or  so  ill-endowed,  she  cannot  do  something  for  the 
love  and  service  of  her  Redeemer  God  ;  nor  one 
so  high  and  gifted,  that  she  may  be  excused  for 
thinking  anything  her  own,  that  she  should  with- 
hold it  from  Him.  And  why  is  that  imperious 
yoke  so  easy,  that  burthen  of  obligation  so  light, 
so  blessed?  because  it  comes  of  love,  and  is 
achieved  by  love;  Jesus  claims  it,  as  the  requi- 
tal of  his  love  to  us,  and  receives  it  as  the  offering 
of  our  love  to  Him.     But  there  is  more  in  it  than 


166 


LETTERS. 


this:  if  there  was  not,  that  which  you  contemplate 
as  difficult,  would  be  impossible  alike,  to  you  and 
me. 

In  that  blessed  Redeemer's  service,  not  one 
thing  is  required,  that  is  not  first  bestowed;  not  a 
service  for  which  strength  is  not  given,  nor  a 
grace  that  has  not  been  promised.  We  serve  a 
Master,  who  gives  us  all  for  nought:  and  we  re- 
pay him  only  with  his  own.  Whatever  God 
requires  of  you,  ask  of  Him;  and  for  knowledge 
of  what  He  requires,  ask  Him;  and  for  the  will  to 
do  it,  ask  Him  ;  and  fur  the  love  that  sweetens  all 
we  do.  The  teaching  of  His  Spirit  and  His  word, 
will  be  more  to  my  young  friend,  than  any  thing 
/  could  tell  her,  who  know  only  what  they  have 
taught  me.  The  distance  between  us,  that  she 
thinks  so  great,  is  only  this.  I  have  had  time  to 
prove  and  know,  and  what  she  has  called  upon 
simply  to  believe, — the  sufficiency,  the  all-suf- 
ficiency of  Christ  for  time  and  for  eternity.  I 
would  exhort  her  to  lose  no  time  in  trying  Him, 
to  waste  no  years  in  bargaining  for  the  cost,  or 
in  tampering  with  her  blessedness,  by  unwhole- 
some compromise,  and  wearisome  indecision  .  .  . 
I  am  glad  to  think  how  short  is  the  time  in  which 
she  has  'done  nothing.''  If  the  gift  of  one  heart 
be  more  acceptable  to  Jesus  than  another,  it  must 
be  that  which  is  given  to  Him,  before  it  is  seared 
and  indurated  in  the  service  of  this  ungodly  world  ; 
and  if  there  is  one  child  of  God  more  blessed  than 
another,  it  is  that  one,  who  has  not  to  look  back 


LETTEfiS.  167 

on  wasted  years  and  mis-spent  feelings,  or  for- 
ward to  the  conflict,  with  earth-bound  affections, 
and  lung-indulged  sins.  .  .  .  May  our  Heavenly 
Father,  who  has  so  early  set  His  name  upon  her, 
bless  her  abundantly  with  the  hallowed  influences 
of  his  Spirit,  that  she  bring  forth  fruit  a  hundred- 
fold, to  His  great  glory,  and  the  happiness  of  those 
around  her.  I  shall  "thank  my  God  on  every 
remembrance''  of  her,  and  I  desire  to  be  con- 
sidered her  affectionate  friend.  &c. 


I  would  have  you,  while  you  thank  God  for  the 
measure  of  grace,  that  made  you  distressed  on 
that  occasion,  bear  in  mind  what  is  said  in  scrip- 
ture, of  those  whose  heart  condemns  them  in  what 
they  do.  The  evil  of  all  these  worldly  amuse- 
ments and  compliances,  is  difficult  to  tell,  but 
easy  enough  to  feel  As  a  voluntary  act,  it  is 
taking  part  with  the  adversary  of  your  soul, 
against  Him  who  you  say  is  u  for  you."  If  He 
is  for  for  you,  my  dear  young  friend,  protecting 
you  from  evil  without,  and  struggling  with  you 
against  the  evil  within,  is  it  not  ungenerous, 
unthankful,  to  throw  your  own  weight  into  the 
opposing  scale  ?  To  go,  where  the  thoughts  of 
Him  must  leave  you.  where  your  love  for  Him 
must  be  chilled,  where  your  mind  is  unfitted  for 
prayer  at  night,  and  disabled  from  devotional  ser- 
vices the  next  dav;  and  the  imagination  filled,  for 


168 


LETTERS. 


days  and  weeks,  with  unholy  images,  with  which 
the  thought  of  Him  cannot,  must  not  be  inter- 
mingled !  We  deal  not  thus  with  earthly  loves, 
and  I  trust  and  believe  the  time  will  come,  when 
you  will  refuse  these  things,  not  because  you  may 
not,  but  because  you  cannot  thus  tamper,  with  the 
grace  and  mercy  of  one,  who  did  not  tamper,  who 
did  not  calculate  how  small  a  sacrifice  would  do, 
or  how  little  obedience  would  be  accepted  of  the 
Father,  when  He  gave  Himself  up  for  you.  Yet, 
this  is  the  way  we  all  set  out,  when  we  begin  or 
mean  to  begin,  to  give  ourselves  to  Him.  It  is 
"May  I  not  just  do  this?"  "Am  I  obliged  to  do 
that  V  "  What !  give  up  all  ?"  "  Let  me  first  bury 
my  father,"  &c. 

O  my  friend,  it  is  pitiful  work,  which  you  will 
one  day  weep  over,  with  mingled  love  and  shame, 
that  your  Lord  should  so  long  have  borne  with 
and  forgiven  it.  But  He  does  bear  with  and  for- 
give it  all,  and  if  His  forbearing  pity  will  not 
shame  you  out  of  it,  I  know  that  the  terror  of  His 
commandment  will  not,  and  therefore  I  am  not 
afraid  to  tell  you,  that  the  way  to  overcome  the 
world,  and  resist  the  temptation  of  the  flesh,  is  to 
increase  your  faith,  to  increase  your  love  to  Him 
whom  that  world  has  crucified,  and  for  whose 
sake  that  world  must  be  crucified  to  you,  and  you 
to  it.  Do  not  make  resolutions,  and  weigh  out 
words  and  actions  as  Papists  count  their  beads, 
and  fret  your  spirit  to  know  when  you  have  done 
enough.    This  is  the  service  of  the  natural  heart, 


LETTERS. 


1G9 


adverse  in  all  things  to  the  mind  of  God, — the 
heart  that  loves  sin,  while  God  loves  holiness; 
and  is  for  ever  busied  in  the  adjustment  of  adverse 
interests.  Try  rather  to  love  what  he  loves,  to  will 
what  he  wTills,  to  choose  what  he  chooses ;  and  de- 
light in  what  he  approves.  This  is  the  subjection 
of  a  child.  To  this  end  pray  much  for  the  increase 
of  your  faith ;  and  avoid  only  such  things  as  unfit 
you  for  earnest  heart-felt  prayer.  Think  much  of 
the  sacrifice,  the  life  and  death  of  Christ,  and  give 
up  only  those  pursuits,  that  preoccupy  and  indis- 
pose your  mind  to  such  reflections.  Read  much 
— of  the  Bible  most;  but  of  other  religious  books 
also;  and  abstain  from  such  occupations  as  make 
this  impracticable  or  distasteful.  Above  all  things, 
try,  pray,  labour  to  increase  your  love ;  for  love  is 
the  fulfilling  of  the  law.  If  you  ask  me  how?  why, 
we  know  how  earthly  love  is  begotten  and  en- 
couraged. Not  by  determining  to  love,  but  by 
thinking,  speaking,  hearing,  of  the  One  beloved ; 
of  wThat  He  is ;  of  what  he  has  done ;  of  what  He 
offers  or  promises  to  do  for  us  or  to  be  to  us ; — of 
the  qualities  that  deserve  our  love,  and  the  benefits 
that  have  earned  it  of  us :  Such  love  will  settle 
many  difficulties  in  point  of  conduct,  by  closing 
our  ears  against  all  who  would  depreciate  the 
object  of  our  affections  and  our  hearts;  against 
all  that  would  be  likely  to  weaken  or  divert  these 
from  Him. 

Try  then  in  this  manner  to  increase  your  love. 
May  He,  who  only  can,  give  you  grace  and  power 
15 


170 


LETTERS. 


to  make  the  attempt  honestly,  and  all  the  rest  will 
follow.  Make  the  tree  good,  and  the  fruit  will  be 
good.  Beseech  Him  to  take  your  heart,  and  then 
you  will  freely  give  him  up  the  sinful  cares  and 
pleasures  of  this  poor  passing  world.  With  Chris- 
tian interest  in  your  welfare,  &c. 


Your  trouble  about  prayer  is  common  to  all 
Christians.  A  mournful  evidence  of  our  fallen, 
perverted,  helpless,  senseless  nature — a  ground  of 
deepest  self-abasement  and  self-abhorrence,  not  of 
discouragement,  or  despondency,  or  distrust  of 
Him  who  is  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infir- 
mities, and  does  for  us  all  we  cannot  do  for  our- 
selves— who  maketh  intercession  for  us 

Christians,  I  apprehend,  the  most  advanced,  are 
not  without  the  same  difficulties,  as  to  what  they 
ought  to  do,  or  rather  ought  to  think  and  feel  un- 
der certain  circumstances;  and  whether  what  they 
actually  do  feel  is  right  or  wrong;  and  they  can 
do  no  better  than  you  did — throw  themselves  on 
the  grace  and  sympathy  of  One  w7ho  knows  all; 
how  much  is  sin,  and  how  much  is  infirmity,  how 
much  is  to  be  forgiven ;  and  how  much  is  only  an 
added  claim  to  paternal  pity  and  support.  Fare- 
well now,  and  may  the  God  of  peace  and  love  be 
ever  with  you,  and  deal  with  you  according  to  his 
great  goodness.  How  great  it  is,  if  ever  we 
know,  will  be  the  most  amazing  of  all  disclosures ! 


LETTERS. 


171 


In  Him,  and  for  His  sake,  consider  that  you  have 
a  friend,  of  whom  you  may  ask  anything  she  may 
be  able  to  impart. 


These  feelings  are  not  peculiar  to  yourself, 
though  perhaps  peculiar  to  individuals  of  your  cha- 
racter and  temperament.  Remember  at  such  mo- 
ments who  it  is,  that  is  at  your  elbow;  and  in 
whose  strength  you,  even  you,  may  overcome  his 
suggestions;  and  be  the  stronger  for  having  known 
what  it  is  to  "endure  temptation."  You  recollect 
who  it  was  that  said,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan!" 
Give  the  same  answer,  and  his  power  is  gone. 
Don't  fancy  you  are  the  only  child  of  light  that 
passes  through  hours  of  darkness.  A  perpetuity 
of  joy  and  peace,  is  the  hard-won  victory,  (if  ever 
it  be  attained  on  earth)  of  many  hard-fought  fields 
and  vanquished  enemies,  aye,  and  many  wounds 
received,  and  battles  lost — efforts  foiled,  and  ex- 
pectations shamed;  you  cannot  have  them  yet; 
but  accept  with  gratitude  and  confidence  every 
interval  of  such  accorded  you.  God  knows  when 
to  send  the  rain,  and  when  the  sunshine;  you  must 
have  both  in  spring-time,  if  you  would  have  fruits 
in  Autumn.  "Remember  that  we  are  but  dust!" 
is  the  prayer  I  say  the  oftenest ;  I  know  moments 
when  it  is  my  best  comfort  to  believe,  that  some- 
body I  know  not  is  offering  prayers  on  my  behalf. 
You  are  afraid  you  may  have  given  offence.     I 


172  LETTERS. 

wish  you  to  believe  that  this  cannot  happen,  and 
therefore  need  never  be  calculated  upon.  It  is  a 
very  common  thing,  my  child,  for  persons  of  a  ner- 
vous and  sensitive  temperament,  to  fancy  that  peo- 
ple do  not  like  them, — that  they  misjudge  them — 
are  unkind  to  them ;  when  nothing  of  the  sort 
really  occurs.  I  have  suffered  so  much  from  this 
through  my  whole  life,  (being  only  relieved  from 
it  in  a  measure  now,  by  not  so  much  caring  whe- 
ther folks  like  me  or  not,  possessed  as  I  am — for 
this  world  and  the  next — of  happiness,  that  man- 
kind can  neither  give  nor  take  away,)  that  I  can 
assure  you,  that  nine  times  out  of  ten,  these  are 
mere  fancies;  and  for  the  tenth,  it  does  not  become 
a  miserable  sinner,  to  be  over  tenacious,  since 
nobody  can  think  so  ill  of  us  as  we  deserve,  make 
what  mistakes  they  may  upon  particular  points. 
If  they  knew  as  much  of  us  as  we  know  of  our- 
selves, would  they  bear  with  us  at  all?  We  may 
believe  generally  that  a  wish  to  please  will  be  suc- 
cessful ;  but  it  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  our 
own  peace  of  mind,  to  be  satisfied  with  the  con- 
scious intention,  without  a  too  watchful  anxiety 
about  the  results.  The  former  may  be  the  growth 
of  love  to  our  fellow-creatures,  and  should  be  cul- 
tivated as  such ;  the  latter,  I  apprehend,  is  more 
nearly  allied  to  self-love,  a  source  both  of  sin  and 
suffering.  It  has  been  so  to  me,  and  therefore  I 
tell  it  you.  Do  you  know  a  beautiful  work  of 
Fenelon's,  entitled  "  Lettres  Spirituelles"?  there 
are  excellent  remarks  in  it,  on  this  and  other  simi- 


LETTERS. 


17; 


lar  subjects,  that  would  be  useful  to  you.  In  the 
meantime,  my  dear  child,  put  your  intercourse 
with  me  beyond  all  such  questions.  It  had  no 
other  origin,  but  the  expectation  that  my  expe- 
rience might  help  your  inexperience;  and  my  bet- 
ter knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  might  help  you 
to  understand  and  direct  your  own.  Farewell 
now,  may  God  direct,  bless,  and  sanctify  you, 
always. 


I  believe  you  are  wrong  in  thinking,  that  you 
dwell  too  much  on  the  promises.  The  promises 
of  the  Gospel  are  not  to  find  us  consistent  Chris- 
tians, but  to  make  us  such.  In  all  examples  of  our 
Lord's  teaching,  the  promises  come  first.  They 
did  so  in  Eden;  they  did  so  in  his  own  Sermon  on 
the  Mount.  Peace  was  the  announcement  of  his 
birth,  Peace  was  the  last  behest  of  his  departure. 
At  the  time  that  you  dwelt  exclusively  on  the  pro- 
mises, suited  as  they  were  exactly  to  the  then  con- 
dition of  your  soul,  I  apprehend  that  you  acted 
under  the  Spirit's  guidance.  That  same  Spirit 
may  now  tell  you,  it  is  time  to  act,  as  well  as  feed 
upon  these  precious  truths ;  do  not  distrust  His 
teaching. 


I  don't  know  if  I   ever  asked  you,  what  sort 
of  reading  you  indulge  in?     Your  metaphysico- 
15* 


j  74  LETTERS. 

poetical  head  might  happen  to  like  what  would  be 
exceedingly  bad  for  you.  I  know  by  experience 
that  the  poetical  may  not  ked  on  poetry,  nor  the 
metaphysical  on  metaphysics.  The  existence  of 
evil  in  the  presence  of  Omniscient  goodness,  is  a 
subject  that  has  puzzled  all  heads,  but  those  that 
were  too  wise  to  knock  themselves  against  it. 
You  must  absolutely  not  think  about  it,  nor  read 
about  it,  or  about  anything  of  the  sort.  Repeat 
the  Psalmist's  words,  "  I  am  not  high-minded,  I  do 
not  occupy  myself  with  things  too  hard  for  me." 
Fare  you  well  now,  my  dear  child ;  be  fearless  and 
commit  yourself  to  God  ;  wait  the  manifestation  of 
his  purposes,  resting  yourself  in  hope ;  you  do  not, 
you  cannot,  know  yet  how  good  he  is.  Shall  we 
ever  know  1 

Let  me  persuade  you,  at  this  season,  not  to  write 
or  read,  as  far  as  you  can  help  it, — not  even  to 
think,  overmuch;  and  not  to  use  long  and  forced 
exercises  of  devotion,  all  equally  detrimental  in 
your  present  state  of  health.  As  many  flowers  as 
you  like,  whether  lilies  of  the  field",  or  lilies  of  the 
garden,  or  any  other  of  God's  works;  which,  next 
to  his  word,  are  most  wholesome  study,  nay,  to 
some  minds,  at  some  seasons,  they  are  more  so. 

Now  I  hope  I  shall  not  offend  a  sensitive  young 
lady  such  as  you  are ;  by  calling  you  what  in  this 
instance  I  cannot  but  think  you  show  yourself  to 
be;  a  foolish  and  unreasonable  child.  You  are 
twenty-two,  or  thereabouts ;  the  Sun  of  righteous- 
ness has  barely  risen  upon  you,  begirt  with  mists 


LETTERS.  175 

of  ignorance,  inexperience,  disquietude,  to  say  the 
least ;  and  you  talk  of  having  "  nothing  to  do  but" 
to  do  that,  my  child,  which,  if  you  number  three 
limes  two  and  twenty  years,  you  will  not  have 
done;  but  instead  of  sitting  down  in  despair  at 
your  own  failure  as  now,  you  will  be  amazed  and 
thankful  for  any  measure  of  success.  Come  now, 
listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  with  you;  for  it 
is  a  plainer  case  than  you  ever  made  out  to  me  be- 
fore. You  are  trying  to  heal  yourself;  you  are 
impatient  of  the  great  Physician's  slowness;  and 
instead  of  waiting  upon  his  sure,  impalpable,  and 
often  imperceptible  medicaments,  you  charge  him 
with  failure  or  refusal,  and  betake  yourself  to  nos- 
trums of  your  own.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  are 
like?  Why,  for  all  the  world,  like  to  certain 
country  people,  who  being  taken  in  ague  or 
typhus, — no  brief  disease,  as  they  might  know,  if 
they  were  wiser, — on  the  first  return  of  the  hot  fit 
or  the  cold  fit,  decide  that  the  quinine  or  the  bark 
are  useless;  and  betake  themselves  to  the  "  wise 
woman,"  for  a  charm  to  be  rid  of  all  at  once. 
Yes,  dear,  and  there  is  a  conjurer  always  ready 
to  take  the  Great  Physician's  cases  out  of  his 
hands;  and  profess  to  do  by  miracle,  what  He, 
with  power  supreme,  hardly  does  in  a  whole  life- 
time; a  long  struggle  against  the  inborn  disease  of 
a  body  dying,  and  a  soul  once  dead  in  trespasses 
and  sins.  I  know  not  who — unless  the  aforesaid 
conjurer  set  you  upon  attempting  the  keeping  of 
Lent  after  the  manner  you  have  hinted ;  the  entire 


170 


LETTERS. 


cause  I  doubt  not  of  your  subsequent  depression ; 
and  enough  to  cause  it  in  a  less  nervous  and  irrita- 
ble temperament  than  yours.  I  don't  believe  that 
u n belief  either  past  or  present  has  had  anything  to 
do  with  this,  in  the  way  of  origination;  but  believe 
me,  it  is  not  of  the  good  Physician's  prescription, 
— this  that  you  have  been  taking.  He  never  bade 
you  to  sit  up  late  and  rise  early,  and  exhaust  your 
body,  and  stimulate  your  brain,  by  extraordinary 
exercises  of  prayer  and  meditation.  It  was  short, 
the  prayer  He  dictated — "  after  this  manner  pray 
you."  It  was  simple,  the  remedy  He  proposed: 
"  As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
so  must  the  Son  of  man  be  lifted  up,  that  whoso- 
ever believeth  on  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life."  You  want  quietness  and  simpli- 
city and  child-like  confidence  and  expectation. 
You  require  to  let  yourself  alone,  to  renounce 
yourself  and  forget  yourself,  while  you  fix  your 
eye  on  Christ,  the  author  and  finisher  alike.  You'll 
win  no  race,  by  counting  your  own  steps,  and 
watching  the  stones  you  stumble  over;  men  win 
by  looking  at  the  goal.  Dear  child,  you  are  born 
in  iniquity,  conceived  in  sin,  the  whole  head  is 
sick,  the  whole  heart  is  faint,  there  is  no  good  thing 
in  you.  You  know*  nothing,  you  deserve  nothing, 
you  are  worth  nothing.  Are  you  content  ?  Then 
throw  yourself  into  your  Father's  arms,  and  leave 
your  cure  with  Him,  and  trust  his  promises,  and 
wait  his  time.  Moses  kept  sheep  for  Jethro,  for 
forty  years  after  he  was  appointed  the  deliverer  of 


LETTERS.  177 

his  people.  Joseph  lay  seven  years,  guiltless,  in 
Pharaoh's  prison,  before  he  sat  next  him  upon  his 
throne.  Abraham  had  only  a  burying-place  in  the 
land  of  promise.  Did  God  not  keep  his  word  with 
all  three?  And  so  He  will  with  you,  in  His  time, 
not  in  yours.  He  must  both  mix  and  administer 
the  drugs,  and  if  they  be  slow  and  bitter,  you  must 
lie  still,  and  quiet  yourself  as  a  weaned  child.  You 
think  too  much  about  your  symptoms,  I  mean  spi- 
ritually, which  must  always  make  a  hypochondriac, 
physically  or  spiritually.  .  .  .  And  you  forget 
that  it  is  not  for  the  ore  to  tell  the  refiner,  when 
the  dross  is  burned  out  of  it.  ...  I  will  pray  for 
you,  but  I  will  not  ask  what  you  bid  me,  I  will  not 
ask  that  the  new-born  babe  in  Christ  may  start  at 
once  into  a  perfect  manhood,  and  be  forthwith  put 
into  possession  of  its  inheritance.  I  will  ask,  that 
it  be  nursed  with  tenderness,  and  humored,  and 
corrected,  and  controlled  ;  fed  with  milk,  quieted  in 
its  tears,  borne  with  in  its  petulance,  and  protected 
in  its  helplessness,  until  it  gain  strength  to  fight 
(like  a  true  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,  clad  in  the 
whole  armour  of  God)  its  own  way,  through  hosts 
of  vanquished  enemies,  to  the  throne,  where  the 
Captain  of  our  salvation  has  fought  his  way  before 
us.  I  close  in  haste,  and  have  said  what  I  meant 
imperfectly.  Remember,  that  "  in  returning  and 
rest,  shall  be  your  safety ;  in  quietness  and  confi- 
dence shall  be  your  strength." 


17S 


LETTERS. 


Such  reading  as  this  work  of  Luther's  is  very 
good  for  you.  Convictions  deep  as  yours;  such 
perceptions  of  the  profundity  of  nature's  darkness, 
are  only  to  be  reached  by  the  strongest  lights,  the 
deepest  truths,  the  highest,  fullest  privileges  of  the 
gospel.  It  is  only  by  the  truth  of  its  doctrines, 
that  any  soul  can  be  saved,  but  every  soul  has  not 
the  like  consciousness  of  their  necessity.  Many  a 
one  has  been  saved  by  the  electing  love,  and  jus- 
tifying righteousness  of  Christ,  without  experimen- 
tal  evidence,  that  they  could  not  be  saved  in  any 
other  manner;  such  as  others  have  had,  who  feel 
that  they  must  receive  these  truths  or  die.  For 
you,  dear  child,  who  are,  I  conceive,  among  the 
latter,  it  is  most  necessary  that  you  should  have  a 
clear,  distinct  perception,  of  the  perfectness  as 
well  as  pricelessness  of  Christ's  work  :  so  that  you 
may  have  done  with  yourself  altogether,  and  be 
absorbed  in  Him.  .  .  .  Coldness  would  be  no  cold- 
ness, if  we  could  feel  the  absent  warmth  ;  darkness 
no  darkness,  if  we  could  see  through  it.  Wait  it 
away ;  trust  it  away  ;  believe  it  away :  that  is, 
wait,  trust,  abide  in  faith,  till  it  is  gone.  Sit  in 
darkness  submissively,  patiently,  hopefully,  till 
you  see  light.  You  know  the  promise,  "  Who  is 
among  you  that  fearelli  the  Lord,  that  obeyeth 
the  voice  of  his  servant,  that  walketh  in  darkness 
and  hath  no  light?  let  him  trust  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  and  stay  him  upon  his  God."  If  you  can- 
not see,  if  you  cannot  feel,  this  is  the  time  for  trust. 
And  of  one  thing  you   may  be  sure — as  long  as 


LETTERS.  17Q 

you  receive  any  single  message  from  God  :  as 
long,  that  is,  as  you  find  in  Holy  Writ  any  word 
that  suits  you,  that  meets  your  case,  or  calls  to 
you  by  any  name,  or  appeals  to  you  under  any 
character,  to  which  you  can  answer  as  your  own 
— God  has  not  done  with  you,  has  not  forsaken 
you,  though  His  face  may  be  hidden  for  many 
moments,  and  His  comforting  presence  with- 
drawn. .  .  .  But  now  we  are  upon  this  subject, 
believe  this,  dear  child,  she  you  speak  of  is  not 
too  proud  to  value  human  testimony  :  she  is  too 
humble,  I  think  she  is,  to  be  exalted  by  it  ;  for  she 
is  one  who  carries  by  her  temperament,  so  great 
a  weight  of  sin,  the  utmost  inflation  of  the  b.eath 
of  praise,  could  not  more  than  suffice  to  keep  her 
head  above  water;  besides,  to  borrow  a  less  grave 
figure  from  your  last,  people  who  remind  us  of  our 
"talents,"  are  little  else  than  duns,  calling  for  ever 
for  payment  of  our  debts.  And  as  to  the  use 
made  of  them,  the  good  we  have  done  with  them, 
alas  !  my  child,  there  is  one  at  least,  who  can  bless 
God,  and  does  with  all  her  heart,  for  every  the 
least  mention  of  it  that  reaches  her  ears ; — she 
needs  it  all  to  keep  her  heart  up,  and  enable  her 
to  do  any  thing.  Christians  who  rest  all  their 
hope  of  commendation  at  the  last,  upon  that  sweet 
gentle  word,  "Let  her  alone,  she  has  done  what 
she  could,"  are  not  likely  to  grow  high-minded. 
Once  established  in  the  truth,  that  all  our  powers 
are  debts,  not  riches,  and  we  can  no  longer  be  in 


180 


LETTERS. 


danger  of  undue  exaltation,  by  either  the  posses- 
sion or  the  use  of  them. 


The  book  is  gone  to  press,  and  will  or  may 
come  forth  in  March.  It  is  called  "  Christ  our 
Law,"  and  will  suit  a  little  lady  very  well,  I  dare 
say  :  taking  her  prepossessions  into  the  account. 
I  wish  the  Giver  of  all  grace  may  give  her  so 
much,  as  to  take  all  the  comfort  of  its  doctrines  to 
herself:  then  they  will  indeed  be  enough,  and  she 
may  take  them, — of  that  I  have  no  doubt;  all  may 
take  them  who  can  love  them,  choose  them,  de- 
light in  them,  submit  to  them,  for  that  is  nature's 
difficulty  after  all.  It  is  not  the  exaltation,  but 
the  abasement,  of  the  creature,  that  is  really  re- 
sisted in  the  gospel-scheme.  There  is  no  hum- 
bling like  that  of  consenting  to  be  nothing,  desiring 
to  be  nothing,  liking  to  be  nothing,  that  Christ  may 
be  -all  in  all;  but  then  we  expect  by  union  with 
Him,  to  become  everything  in  Him  !  Pure  as  he 
is  pure,  holy  as  he  is  holy,  happy  as  he  is  happy. 


My  new  work,  (Christ  our  Law)  is  just  out.  If 
you  read  it  with  attention  you  may  discover,  that 
the  case  in  which  you  suppose  yourself,  is  an  im- 
possible case;  the  position  in  which  you  contem- 
plate yourself,  an  impossible  position,  which  no 


LETTERS. 


181 


one  ever  did  or  can  in  this  world  occupy.  God 
has  laid  no  "perfect  rule  down  before  you,"  by 
which  your  salvation  is  to  be  won  or  lost.  He 
has  not  "denied"  you  "the  liberty  of  choosing" 
life  rather  than  death.  What  you  call  the  neces- 
sity of  your  nature  to  desire,  is,  in  fact,  what  no 
one  naturally  does  desire,  and  if  you  do,  it  is  not 
of  nature  but  of  grace,  a  strong  evidence,  that  He 
has  "chosen  you."  The  fact  is,  my  child,  you 
neither  are  nor  can  be  lost,  by  virtue  of  your  de- 
scent, and  therefore  cannot  be  called  upon  to  con- 
sent thereto.  If  you  are  lost  at  all,  it  is  because 
you  deserve  it,  by  actual  not  original  sin,  and  be- 
cause you  refuse  to  accept  the  only  remedy  pro- 
vided for  either,  the  sure  and  priceless  remedy  for 
both  ....  You  destroy  your  peace,  and  your 
soul's  health,  by  metaphysics.  "  Read  my  book," 
as  Abernethy  used  to  say  to  his  patients,  and  try 
to  become  as  a  little  child,  that  you  may  enter  into 
rest ;  there  is  no  other  way.  Seriously,  you  speak 
nothing,  but  the  truth  when  you  say,  that  your 
"  mind  is  overrun  with  fallacies,  you  see  nothing 
rightly."  The  Spirit  of  God  will  be  your  better 
teacher,  but  he  uses  means,  and  I  need  not  affect 
modesty  in  saying  that  "  my  book"  may  throw 
some  light  upon  your  mind,  being  written  with  the 
express  intent  of  disentangling  the  thread  of  divine 
truth  for  the  benefit  of  the  simple. 


1G 


182  LETTERS. 

Who,  and  what  is  your  habitual  ministry? 
Don't  neglect  any  opportunity  of  hearing  the  gos- 
pel preached.  It  is  God's  specially  appointed 
way,  both  to  convert  and  to  sustain,  to  heal  and 
to  mature,  and  I  don't  know  anybody  to  whom  it 
would  be  so  likely  to  be  essentially  beneficial,  as 
yourself  ....  Be  sure  I  shall  not  blame  you  for 
excessive  reading.  It  is  exaclly  what  I  advise  for 
your  character  of  mind.  Nothing  is  so  bad  for 
you  as  dwelling  exclusively  upon  some  one — or 
some  few — trains  of  thought  and  feeling. 

I  differ  from  Miss  S's  opinion  (with  regard  to 
the  distribution  of  Tracts)  wholly,  as  it  regards 
the  poor,  though  but  partially  as  it  regards  well- 
educated  youth.  The  last  may  be  induced  to  take 
up  more  solid  reading — the  first  cannot.  The 
mental  pow7ers  of  the  latter  are  in  our  hands  to  be 
strengthened  or  weakened  by  the  aliment  we  sup- 
ply; those  of  the  former  are  not  so.  We  must 
give  them  what  they  understand,  or  they  will  take 
in  nothing.  Tracts  for  the  poor,  are  not  on  the 
same  ground  as  novels  for  the  rich,  but  as  story- 
books for  children,  which  nobody  in  their  senses 
would  think  of  prohibiting.  .  .  .  God  never  enjoins 
any  more  than  he  imposes;  an  hour's,  nay  a  mo- 
ment's bodily  suffering,  unless  to  a  further  benefi- 
cial end,  any  more  than  a  physician  gives  a 
draught,  because  it  is  nauseous,  or  prescribes  an 
indulgence  because  it  is  agreeable.  .What  he  does 
not  for  us,  we  may  not  do  for  ourselves.  For 
admitting  that  our  Heavenly  Father  may  some- 


LETTERS.  2  S3 

times  send  pain  and  privation,  merely  as  a  punish- 
ment, without  a  further  end  ;  (which  yet  as  to  his 
children  may  be  questioned,)  it  is  wholly  out  of  our 
province  to  imitate  him  there ;  no  man  is  at  liberty 
to  punish  himself,  or  do  penance  for  past  sin. 
With  regard  to  fasting,  there  are  scriptural  rea- 
sons, why  it  should  not  be  spoken  against;  but 
practically  I  cannot  give  an  opinion  with  regard 
to  it,  as  I  never  fast,  simply  for  this  reason,  spoken 
out  of  a  heart,  honest  I  believe  in  its  own  desire 
after  the  increase  of  spiritual  affections,  the  subju- 
gation of  its  sins,  and  the  entire  conformity  of  its 
whole  being  to  the  mind  and  will  of  God  ; — I  never 
fast,  because  I  never  find  the  occasion  when  my 
soul  could  be  benefited  by  doing  so  ;  when  my  de- 
votions would  not  be  more  hindered  than  helped 
by  it,  and  my  mind  more  dulled  than  cleared  by 
abstaining  from  customary  food  ;  and  I  consider 
that  fasting  is  intended  as  a  means  to  an  end,  and 
should  never  be  used  as  an  end  itself.  Where  in- 
deed it  is  found  to  be  a  furthering  and  help  to  the 
growth  of  the  divine  life  in  the  soul ;  where  it 
leaves  the  mind  more  able  and  more  disposed  to 
spiritual  exercises,  and  detaches  the  heart  from 
earth  and  self:  to  lift  it  up  to  God  in  prayer, 
praise,  and  high  and  holy  intercourse  with  Him — 
in  that  case  fasting  is  a  righteous  act  to  a  most 
righteous  end — to  any  extent,  not  injurious  to  the 
body's  health;  fur  this  I  believe  to  be  never  de- 
signed or  permitted  of  God. 


184  LETTERS. 

I  consider  that  all  persons  careful  for  the  truth 
of  God,  should  bestow  their  support  on  the  evan- 
gelical societies,  and  withdraw  it  from  those 
Societies  which  are  suspected  of  Tractarian  influ- 
ence, for  they  will  be  true  to  their  principles,  if  we 
be  not  to  ours. — As  to  submission  to  clerical  au- 
thority, against  your  judgment,  I  say  "  Not  for  a 
moment."  Call  no  man  master  upon  earth  in  the 
concernments  of  the  soul ;  whether  of  your  own 
or  others.  Then  as  to  your  deeper,  nearer,  and 
more  vital  interest,  my  dear  child,  the  evidences 
of  the  new  life  within  you, — which  you  say  are  all 
you  have, — are  all  you  want, — is  not  one  in  parti- 
cular God's  own  evidence ; — that  I  mean,  which 
he  has  specifically  chosen,  "  Because  ye  love  the 
brethren?' 


I  remember,  early  in  our  correspondence,  ad- 
vising you  not  to  read  metaphysical  books,  or  to 
discuss  metaphysical  doctrines,  and  now  I  press  on 
you  more  earnestly  than  ever  that  advice.  I 
would  have  you  put  the  subject  of  your  difficulty 
quite  away,  as  beyond  your  reach  and  quite  unfit 
for  the  peculiar  character  of  your  mind,  rather 
than  try  to  satisfy  yourself  upon  it.  "  If  any  man 
would  be  wise,  let  him  become  a  fool  that  he  may 
be  wise," — is  a  precept  good  for  all ;  but  where 
there  is  a  natural  disposition  to  cavil  and  object,  it 
is  peculiarly  indispensable  to  the  study  of  divine 


LETTERS. 


185 


truth.  Believe,  submit,  obey,  without  questioning, 
is,  I  am  perfectly  certain,  your  safety  and  your 
peace;  the  simple  acquiescence  of  a  little  child,  in 
an  authority  it  may  not  doubt,  on  subjects  that  it 
cannot  comprehend.  It  is  likely  that  time  will  re- 
move your  painful  doubts,  if  not,  submission  will 
take  out  the  sting;  they  are  not  so  unusual  as  you 
suppose,  but  have  been  aggravated  in  your  case 
by  the  circumstance  that  you  have  lived  too  much 
alone,  mentally  at  least,  and  thought  too  much  by 
yourself  and  of  yourself;  I  don't  mean  in  the  sense 
of  self-love,  but  of  self  occupation  and  seclusion. 
Now,  I  do  advise  you,  to  do,  think,  feel,  and  seem, 
as  much  like  other  people  as  you  can :  in  religion 
especially,  try  rather  to  be  common-place  than 
curious;  take  the  plain  letter  and  abide  therein, 
and  God,  I  do  not  doubt,  will  give  you  light  and 
peace.  It  is  not  necessary  to  understand  God;  it 
is  necessary  to  believe  Him  and  adore !  .  .  .  Mean- 
time, without  the  said  key,  be  not  too  sure  which 
of  us  two  understands  your  mind  the  best,  or  is 
least  disposed  to  blame  you  for  that  which  has 
sorely  tried  it.  I  think  I  do  understand  you;  I 
only  want  von  to  learn  to  understand  yourself. 


Now  to  your  kind  inquiries,  I  have  only  to  an- 
swer, Quite  well ;  a  grateful  word  it  should   be  to 
all  who  can  so  say.     I  am  sorry  that  you  speak  of 
''troubles:" — yet   who    has   them   not?   and   who 
10* 


18G 


LETTERS. 


should  desire  not  to  have  them?  Assuredly  not 
pilgrims  and  strangers,  who  seek  a  better  country, 
but  are  terribly  disposed  to  sit  down  and  rest 
themselves,  on  any  pleasant  spot  they  come  to  by 
the  way,  till  some  rude  impulse  comes  from  be- 
hind, to  drive  them  forward — Is  it  not  so?  It  has 
been  necessary  or  rather  right,  that  we 

This  was  a  sore  message  from  the  All-wise  dis- 
poser, when  it  reached   me  first.     Yet   so   beau- 
tifully  does    our  Father  win   his  wayward  chil- 
dren to  the  way  he  means  them  to  take,  that  in  a 
little  while  we  have  become  more  than  reconciled 
to    the    change.     May   it   be    so   with    you,   dear 
child,  the  stern  realities  of  life  will  make  you  per- 
haps less  a  poet;  but  it  is  possible  that  they  will 
make  you  also   by  so  much  the  happier.     Wise, 
most  wise,  loving,  always  loving,  amid  the  chang- 
ing phases  of  providence,  is  He  who  rules  over 
all.     My  child,  you   need  not  be  afraid,  "He  will 
do,  as  he  has  done,"  but  He  does  not  require  that 
you  do  not  grieve.     Where  is  the  benefit  of  ad- 
versity, if  it  be  not  felt  1     What  are  the  gains  of 
chastisement   that   is   not   grievous?     Remember 
all,  feel  all,  and  yet  consent  to  all;  you  are,  I  be- 
lieve, about  five  or  six  and  twenty;  that  is  a  long 
time;  a  large  portion  of  three-score  and  ten,  to 
live  at  ease  in  luxury  and  love,  supposing  that  it 
ends  there.     But  it  will  not  do  so;  a  few  days  of 
storm,  a  few  long  wintry  nights,  losses,  pains,  se- 
parations, and  there  will   be  time  left  still  for  half 


LETTERS  i fry 

a  life  of  domestic  peace  and  love,  when  He  who 
takes,  thinks  fit  to  give  again.  Take  hope  as 
well  as  gratitude  in  aid  of  submission  for  your 
support,  under  the  really  great  trial  that  is  upon 
you  now,  which  those  who  know  more  of  life 
than  you  do,  will  not  be  likely  to  under-rate  on 
your  behalf. 

"  Any  thing,"  you  say,  "  may  be  borne  for  a 
time,"  and  nothing  is  borne  for  more  than  a  time; 
not  only  is  this  true  of  the  universal  limit  of  all 
sorrow,  but  it  is  true  of  all  feeling,  in  its  own  na- 
ture; it  wears  itself  out,  and  the  greater  its  poig- 
nancy the  shorter  its  duration.  If  it  were  not  so, 
there  are  feelings,  that  would  very  soon  come  to 
be  not  felt  at  all,  for  the  physical  capability  would 
fail.  If  God  take  away  much ;  if  He  empty  you 
of  all  else,  it  is  only  to  fill  you  with  himself. 
Take  courage;  be  hopeful,  be  confiding,  and  don't 
quarrel  with  yourself,  because  you  are  not  a  block 
of  stone ! 


Igg  LETTERS. 


XX VI.— TO  MRS.  *****. 

1838. 

My  dear  Friend, 
It  was  much  pleasure  to   us,   to  receive  both 

your  own  letter  and  Miss 's  precious  one;  to 

hear  first  that  you  had  reached  your  home  in 
peace;  and  now  that  the  promise  of  recovery  is 
confirmed.  The  very  thought  of  your  trials  makes 
us  ashamed  of  having  thought  any  thing  of  our 
own;  but  the  light  weight  and  the  heavy  one,  are 
proportioned  by  the  same  hand ;  and  fitted  to  the 
strength  that  is  to  bear  them.  I  never  had  reason 
to  think  my  precious  husband's  life  in  danger; 
though  in  the  multitude  of  my  sad  thoughts  upon 
my  bed,  it  sometimes  would  occur,  that  I  might 
never  see  my  pretty  home  again.  Still  I  never 
really  thought  the  complaint  dangerous,  so,  what 
were  my  cares  to  yours?  If  your  present  happi- 
ness and  gratitude  are  in  equal  proportion,  as  I 
doubt  not,  you  must  feel  that  indeed.  I  am  so 
habitually  persuaded  that  evil,  greater  or  less, 
never  overtakes  the  child  of  God,  but  as  a  mes- 
sage from  the  Most  High,  I  go  naturally  in  the 
smallest  reverse  into  investigation  of  the  cause,  if 
so  I  may  find  out  the  cipher  by  which  the  mes- 
sage can  be  read.     Doubtless  all  Christians  do  the 


LETTERS. 


189 


same,  and  by  the  Spirit's  help  are  led  to  judge 
themselves  aright;  mine  was  a  gentle  hint;  I  wish 
to  understand  and  take  it,  that  there  be  no  neces- 
sity to  speak  louder.  Yours,  my  dear  friend, 
spake  fearfully,  and  perhaps  you  have  deciphered 
it  aright.  It  is  so  common  a  mistake,  that  whilst 
vanity  of  vanities  is  written  on  all  besides,  and  we 
should  be  ashamed  to  set  much  value  on  riches, 
or  beauty,  or  high  station  for  our  children,  learn- 
ing and  talent  have  been  exempted  from  that  sen- 
tence;  and  may  be  pursued  without  risk,  and 
coveted  without  restraint.  But  whoever  thinks 
so,  will  be  sometime  undeceived.  Every  good 
gift  of  God  has  its  value,  and  it  is  equally  a  mis- 
take, to  suppose  that  the  lesser  gifts  are  to  be 
despised  or  undervalued ;  but  greater  or  lesser, 
the  things  of  earth  are  earthy,  and  may  not  be 
too  anxiously  coveted  or  eagerly  pursued.  If 
beauty  lasts  but  a  season,  learning  serves  us  but  a 
season  more,  and  both  may  be  blighted  in  a  day. 
There  is  no  doubt  your  dear  child  will  recover 
her  mental,  together  with  her  bodily  powers ;  and 
you  will  take  graciously  the  parental  warning; 
neither  to  overtask  her  powers,  nor  to  regret  that 
she  is  not  able  to  do  more.  You  have  fair  pro- 
mise of  a  great  blessing  in  them,  if  they  grow  up 

as  they  are  now I  feel  it  is  useless 

now  to  talk  of  seeing  you  here,  as  we  so  fully  an- 
ticipated to  have  done  before  this  time;  still  you 
will  keep  it  in  mind  ;  and  like  an  honest  woman, 


190 


LETTERS. 


let  us  know  when  you  are  able  to  discharge  your 
just  debts. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

c.  w. 


XXVII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

The  Windmills,  Blaclcheath, 

Dec.  19,  1839. 

Dear  Madam, 
If  you  were  well  acquainted  with  the  habits  of 
our  excellent  friend,  you  would  not  be  uneasy  for 
the  safety  of  your  letter.  It  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  received  a  similar  "  writ  of  discovery/'  and 
generally  can  do  no  more  than  assure  my  appellant, 
that  Mrs. never  answers  letters.  In  this  oc- 
casion I  am  happy  to   have  procured  from  her  an 

acknowledgment  that  Lady 's   letter   is  in  a 

drawer,  which  will  be  looked  over,  and  that  she 
will  communicate  to  you  the  result :  for  which 
last,  however,  I  decline  to  be  her  sponsor.  This 
lady,  like  many  other  valuable  things,  is  a  curiosity. 
Though  living  in  near  neighbourhood,  and  entire 
friends,  I  have  not  seen  her  for  a  twelvemonth.  I 
leave  her  to  make  her  own  apology ;  but  feel 
obliged  to  an  incident  that  has  procured  me  the 
favour  of  your  Ladyship's  letter.     The  subject  is 


LETTERS.  |<J1 

one  on  which  I  feel  deeply,  painfully,  perhaps  with 
too  much  hopelessness,  that  any  thing  we  can  do 
will  stay  the  mischief;  yet  we  ought  to  try,  if  only 
to  shelter  some  buds  of  promise  from  the  blight 
that  has  come  into  our  Lord's  own  garden,  check- 
ing every  symptom  of  restored  vitality.  Personal- 
ly, I  am  averse  to  controversy  in  reading,  writing, 
or  conversing:  as  one  housed  and  sheltered  and 
secured,  is  averse  to  put  to  sea  again  and  bide  the 
storm.  I  was  long  entreated  before  I  wrote  the 
"  Listener  in  Oxford,"  and  have  read  as  little 
and  thought  as  little  as  possible  upon  the  subject 
since;  not  from  indifference,  but  contrariwise: 
from  painful  susceptibility  to  the  mischief;  less 
painful  to  my  mind,  in  its  bolder  outrages  than 
in  its  hidden  influence.  We  know  the  lazar- 
house,  and  may  shun  it,  but  who  shall  set  land- 
marks to  the  infected  atmosphere  that  surrounds 
it,  and  say,  "  here  all  is  safe."  I  see  nothing 
safe.  Persons  one  has  depended  upon,  Chris- 
tians and  Christian  ministers,  who  have  no 
idea  of  taking  up  the  Tractarian  views,  have  so 
lowered  their  tone  in  spiritual  things,  as  really 
breaks  one's  heart  with  sadness  !  I  live  much  at 
home,  and  out  of  society ;  but  still  I  meet  and  feel 
the  chilling  influence  every  where.  It  is  a  real 
refreshment,  to  receive  a  communication  such  as 
yours,  from  one  unchanged  in  the  profession  of 
the  gospel.  Your  ladyship  is  perhaps  a  better 
judge  than  I  am,  respecting  the  plan  proposed.  I 
have  heard  that  much  good  has  been  done  by  the 


192  LETTERS. 

association  that  leaves  religious  tracts  monthly  at 
the  houses  of  the  rich  in  London ;  they  read  from 
mere  idleness  or  curiosity,  and  because  they  do 
not  know  where  they  come  from.  I  will  gladly  do 
anything  I  can  do  to  promote  the  success  of  such 
plans  as  you  may  devise.  I  take  the  liberty  of  in- 
closing the  only  thing  I  have  written  further  upon 
the  subject,  in  the  form  of  a  review,  for  a  monthly 
publication,  of  an  inferior  order,  but  for  an  impor- 
tant class  of  readers,  for  which  I  wrote  it  by  re- 
quest.* I  find  it  more  wholesome,  and  how  much 
more  pleasant,  to  write  for  truth,  than  against 
error;  but  we  must  do  what  we  can. 

My  brother,  for  whom  you  kindly  inquire  as 
my  father,  is  still  in  the  exercise  of  his  ministry  at 
Desford,  though  a  good  deal  reduced  in  capability 
by  recent  severe  illness.  With  many  thanks  for 
the  pleasure  you  have  afforded  me,  I  am, 
Your  Ladyship's  obedient  servant, 

Caroline  Wilson". 

*  Review  of"  The  Church  in  the  World." 


LETTERS.  193 


XXVIII.— TO  LADY  *  *  * 

The  Windmills,  Blackhcath. 
January  9,  1840. 

My  Dear  Madam, 

It  is  indeed  curious  lhat  I  should  send  you  the 
review  of  yourself,  without  the  remotest  suspicion 
that  I  was  doing  so  ;  I  received  the  work,  as  you 
must  know  from  the  author ;  and  though  I  in- 
quired of  S ,  to  whom  I  owed   my  thanks,  he 

kept  your  secret  entirely.  I  did  in  fact  attribute 
it  to  another  person,  a  gentleman.  Need  I  add 
the  secret  is  safe  with  me,  and  I  think  you  do 
right  to  let  it  be  supposed  of  masculine  origin.  I 
should  much  like  to  see  the  proposed  paragraph 
added  to  the  very  useful  little  Tract,  which  last  I 
take  the  liberty  of  retaining.  The  only  freedom  I 
have  used,  or  found  the  least  opportunity  to  use,  is 
in  drawing  my  pen  through  your  own  correction, 
which  seemed  to  ask  the  reader  to  choose  between 
two  phrases.  Am  I  right  in  judging,  that  while 
"  the  baptismal  font,"  is  nothing  in  any  sense,  the 
"water  of  baptism"  is  a  Scripture  term  for  vital 
renewal  by  the  Holy  Ghost :  and  that  therefore 
the  former  expression  is  rather  the  safest  for  your 
purpose  ? 

You  do  injustice  to  your  style  of  writing,  to  sup- 
pose it  incorrect ;  but  in  that  or  anything  else,  I 
beg  you  to  command  me  at  all  times.  I  feel,  or 
apprehend  a  time  approaching,  when  those  who 
.  17 


1Q4  LETTERS. 

will  hold  fast  the  former  things,  and  openly  con- 
tend for  the  pure  faith  of  Christ,  will  be  "left  as  a 
beacon  upon  the  top  of  a  mountain,  as  an  ensign 
upon  the  hills,"  abandoned  altogether  of  the  host; 
but  they  will  be  rallying  points  to  the  scattered 
flock,  round  which  the  few  will  gather  close  amid 
the  general  dispersion ;  and  dear  and  precious 
they  will  be  to  each  other,  beyond  anything  we 
have  known  of  in  our  late  triumphant  progress.  I 
have  thought,  and  so  have  others,  that  this  may 
be  God's  purpose,  to  bring  out  of  all  parties  a 
people*  for  himself,  and  unite  them  to  each  other 
by  the  defection  of  their  own  separate  churches ; 
thus  making  Puseyism  itself  the  instrument  of  pro- 
ducing a  unity  in  the  Church  of  Christ,  far  other 
than  their  arrogance  demands.  For  the  present, 
I  can  only  say,  "  Blessed  be  His  name !"  for 
every  individual  whom  I  find  safe.  To  you,  my 
•dear  Madam,  I  cannot  but  perceive  there  is  a  near- 
er and  more  painful  interest :  the  evil  has  touched 
your  home  and  your  domestic  affections,  and 
mixes  fear  for  those  you  love  with  jealousy  for 
your  Saviour's  glory.  Still,  be  comforted,  these 
things  are  terribly  taking  to  the  young,  unchastened 
heart ;  but  many  are  gone  out  from  us  who  will 
come  back :  and  many  are  hesitating  who  will  yet 
not  go.  All  means  must  be  tried,  but  the  most 
powerful  is  prayer. 
The  above  was  written  before  I  received  your 
Ladyship's  second  letter ;  for  it,  I  must  reserve 
my  answer  till  a  future  day,  being  busy,  yet  un- 


LETTERS.  J95 

willing  to  detain  this.     Meantime,  in  some  haste 
to  terminate  this  unworthy  return   for  your  kind 
communications,  believe  me,  my  dear  Madam, 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XXIX.— TO  MR.  B  *  *  * 

1840. 

It  is  reported  that  Mr.  B wants  to  know 

why  Mrs.  Wilson  thinks  it  more  a  sin  to  go  to  the 
#  #  #  church  concert,  than  to  go  to  Westminster 
Abbey  at  the  Coronation  Festival.  Mrs.  Wilson 
has  not  said  it  is  sin  to  go  to  either.  The  inex- 
pediency and  impropriety  of  the  one  festival  ap- 
pears to  Mrs.  Wilson  to  bear  no  proportion  to  the 
other,  though  both  may  be,  and  have  been  ques- 
tioned. 

Westminster  Abbey  is  at  all  times  a  place  of 
pomp  and  ceremony  more  than  of  devotion.  The 
Queen's  Coronation  is  a  thing  of  rare  occurrence, 
and  certainly  the  appanage  of  the  royal  ceremony 
left  nothing  of  association  with  church  worship  in 
the  appearance  of  the  place.  A  very  different 
case  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  opinion  to  the  desecration 
of  parish  churches,  and  common  places  of  worship, 
by  the  same  persons  and  in  presence  of  the  same 
populace,  who  are  to  occupy  the  same  seats  for 


196 


LETTERS. 


their  habitual  Sabbath  service;  which,  if  it  have 
no  effect  upon  the  mind,  the  setting  apart  of  build- 
ings for  the  purpose  can  scarcely  be  necessary  at 
all ;  but  which  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  opinion,  is  calcu- 
lated to  bring  the  church  into  contempt,  if  it  do  no 
worse.  However  this  may  be,  as  to  the  celebra- 
tion itself,  Mrs.  Wilson  is  sure  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  the  act  of  an  individual  going 
in  a  crowd  to  Westminster  Abbey,  at  a  season  of 
national  rejoicing,  to  an  entertainment  so  sanction- 
ed and  appointed  as  that  at  the  Coronation  ;  and 
the  act  of  those,  who  having  consecrated  both 
themselves  and  their  churches  to  the  service  of 
God,  do  for  their  own  purpose,  get  up  such  enter- 
tainments, and  affix  names  to  it,  that  ill  become 
the  printed  lists  of  this  world's  pleasure-makers, 
however  innocent  the  occasion,  in  the  face  of  their 
congregations,  to  the  distress  of  the  tender  con- 
science, to  the  offence  of  many,  to  the  misleading 
of  more,  to  the  triumph  of  the  worldly,  who  know 
better  what  a  believer's  profession  requires  of  him, 
than  he  sometimes  knows  himself.  All  this  is  done 
on  the  present  occasion.  We  leave  the  parties  to 
measure  and  divide  the  evil-doing. 


LETTERS.  197 


XXX.— TO  LADY  ***** 

Bath  Hotel,  Bournemouth, 
August  13,  1840. 
Dear  Milady, 
Your  much  expected  and  more  desired  letter 
overtook  me  here ;  no  unfit  spot  to  enjoy  the 
thought  of  your  enjoyments.  I  need  hardly  tell 
you  how  much  I  am  delighted  with  your  descrip- 
tion of  yourself.  Those  are  delicious  moments, 
when  the  worn  and  jaded  spirit  that  the  world  has 
tired,  finds  the  fresh  zest  of  young  existence  can 
return,  and  we  be  sixteen  again,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  what  neither  wears  nor  ages.  I  am  so  happy 
about  you  as  I  cannot  tell;  my  love  for  you  was 
never  so  well  proved,  to  myself,  as  when  I  first 
heard  of  your  departure  from  the  Hospital,  by  the 
fact  that  pleasure  was  my  first  sensation  at  the 
news.  Self  spake  afterwards,  and  said  we  could 
not  spare  you  :  but  I  thought,  I  knew  that  you  were 
right,  and  doing  most  wisely  for  yourselves,  and 
though  I  could  spare  some  better,  I  have  never 
brought  myself  to  the  exact  point  of  being  sorry ; 
if  I  had,  your  letter  would  have  shamed  me.  Now 
if  I  were  not  the  happiest  of  beings  I  should  envy 
you ;  most  fully  I  do  indeed  enter  into  all  you 
speak  of,  and  since  the  place  is  what  you  expect- 
ed, and  the  church  what  you  expected,  I  do  not 
regret  the  sort  of  unseen  leap  you  took,  although  I 
did.  and  read  anxiously  on,  till  your  description 

17* 


198 


LETTERS. 


came  to  the  Sunday.  Truly  has  God  cast  the  lot 
into  the  lap  for  you,  and  as  surely  will  He  bless  it 
to  you.  Your  dear  child  will  retain,  I  trust,  un- 
spoiled, those  natural  and  innocent  tastes  which 
alone  will  bide  the  test  of  time  and  sorrow,  and 
whatever  else  advance  of  years  may  bring.  In 
early  life  I  knew  no  other  pleasures,  and  though  I 
have  tried  many  others  since,  and  loved  them, 
and  worn  them,  and  loathed  them  ;  the  time  seems 
fast  approaching  when  these  will  alone  remain. 
To  find  they  do  remain,  in  all  their  freshness,  is 
ever  and  anon  a  great  delight  to  me, — as  it  is  just 
now  to  you — fancying  always  in  society  I  am  five 
hundred  years  old,  and  had  better  be  off  the  stage, 
— yet,  turned  loose  upon  a  heath,  I  discover  that  I 
too  am  sixteen.  I  was  under  this  blissful  impres- 
sion when  your  letter  reached  me.  We  travel  at 
a  sort  of  venture  this  year,  scarce  knowing  where 
we  would  go.  From  Southampton  we  drove  to 
Lymington,  to  pass  a  quiet  Sunday.  It  is  what 
may  be  called  a  stupid,  uninteresting  little  place; 
but  the  air  has  something  so  peculiar  in  it,  as 
makes  it  a  pleasure  to  exist  and  breathe:  there  is 
a  good  clergyman,  a  comfortable  little  inn,  and  we 
passed  a  most  pretty  Sunday.  More  rapturous 
sensations  waited  for  our  arrival  here.  Had  you 
not  left  our  world,  I  am  sure  we  should  persuade 
you  to  come ;  I  have  enjoyed  nothing  equally  for 
very  many  years.  It  is  a  new  watering-place, 
easily  accessible  in  one  day  from  London ;  and  to 
us  poor  Southrons  a  great  discovery;  beyond  the 


LETTERS. 


199 


smell  of  gas,  the  noise  of  engines  or  the  taint  of 
smoke  ;  beyond  the  regions  of  donkey-driving,  and 
almost  of  carriage  wheels,  with  the  very  best  ac- 
commodation that  can  be  enjoyed  at  an  Hotel. 
We  have  found  no  place  where  the  sea  could  be 
so  enjoyed  within  doors  and  without ;  you  can 
walk  miles  by  the  water's  edge,  with  the  most 
beautiful  cliffs  above  you,  and  when  tired  of  that, 
you  may  strike  into  the  woods  and  lose  yourselves 
in  impervious  shade.  I  have  been  in  a  fit  of  poe- 
try ever  since  I  came  here — now  ten  days  since 
— and  had  there  been  no  seventh  in  the  ten,  it 
would  have  needed  only  continuance  to  be  as 
bright  as  yours ;  but  alas!  the  Sabbath  brought 
nothing  but  blight  upon  our  paradise.  Whatever 
the  first  Eden  was,  it  ceased  to  be  when  God  went 
out  of  it,  and  there  has  been  no  Eden  since,  till 
He  in  His  grace  shines  on  it;  and  though  next  to 
His  word,  there  is  no  pleasure  like  the  enjoyment 
of  His  works,  the  one  has  no  zest  without  the 
other.  Yes,  I  mean  to  be  quite  sure  we  shall 
come  and  see  you  next  summer,  because  if  we  do 
not,  it  may  be  still  the  next,  and  never  get  farther 
off;  anticipation,  however,  is  not  one  of  my  facul- 
ties, and  if  I  lose  some  pleasure  by  this  want  of 
forecasting,  I  also  escape  much  pain.  Much  I 
should  like  to  see  you  now.  We  leave  here  on 
Saturday  for  Weymouth,  thence  pass  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  week  to  Lyme;  and  thence  on  a 
visit  to  my  sister  near  Bristol.  We  expect  to 
reach  home  about  the  10th  September,  there  and 


200  LETTERS. 

then  to  miss  once  more  our  friends  at  the  Hospital, 
the  very  name  of  which  now  grates  upon  the  ear. 
Self  must  have  its  say,  and  since  I  cannot  after 

your  letter  regret  that  you  are  at  C ,  I  must 

wish  C were  not  where  it  is  ;  too  far  for  us, 

though  not  for  you.  This  last,  I  well  believe;  It 
is  a  knot  more  easily  cut  than  disentangled,  that 
holds  the  Christian  and  the  world  together.  Great 
indeed  is  the  manifestation  of  divine  love  to  those, 
to  whom  is  given  both  the  power  and  the  will  to 
do  what  you  have  done.  I  wish — no  I  don't  wish 
— for  God  has  done  for  me  abundantly  above  all  I 
could  ask  or  think ;  but  if  I  did  wish  at  all,  it 
would  be  for  exactly  such  a  home  as  yours  to  end 
my  days  in.  By  favour  of  the  new  freedom  of  the 
press,  I  hope  you  will  write  to  me  from  time  to 
time,  if  only  to  convince  us  that  you  are  not  too 
happy  even  to  remember, — as  I  shall  else  suspect. 
Perhaps  you  will  not  like  to  write  again  till  we 
reach  home,  or  if  you  should,  the  letter  will  be 
forwarded,  without  troubling  you  with  a  new 
address.     With    all    love    and  gratulation  to   Sir 

J and    the   young  naturalist,  believe    me, 

what  you  know  I  am  and  shall  be, 

Ever  affectionately  Yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS.  201 


XXXI.— TO  LADY  ***** 

The  Windmills, 
Nov.  6,  1840. 
Dearest  Milady, 
If  I  forgot  you  at  all  other  times,  I  should  think 
of  you  in  a  gale  of  wind  :  but  it  is  not  so.  The 
supply  of  letters  is  very  short  this  season,  and  per- 
haps my  correspondents  do  not  suspect  it  is  owing 
to  the  dryness  of  the  weather.  Yet  is  it  true,  both 
in  fact  and  in  philosophy;  and  you  may  not  expect 
letters  in  fine  weather.  My  mornings  are  devot- 
ed to  my  books,  broken  in  upon  only  by  charitable 
and  domestic  concerns  ;  my  afternoons  to  exer- 
cise and  visiting,  my  evenings,  to  my  husband; 
consequently  the  only  time  for  letter-writing  is  a 
wet  afternoon;  and  if  there  are  no  wet  afternoons 
for  six  months  together,  what  but  absolute  dearth 
can  be  expected.  This  is  the  simple  truth,  worth 
a  hundred  thousand  excuses.  But  I  did  want  very 
much  to  hear  from  you,  and  to  have  the  beautiful 
impression  of  your  felicity  renewed.  It  is  a  strong 
word,  perhaps,  for  such  an  attainted  world  as  this. 
I  should  not  apply  it  to  any  sort  of  happiness,  but 
the  enjoyment  of  God  in  his  works,  or  in  his 
words.  Most  earnestly  I  trust  that  you  will  long 
retain  it  unembittered.     You  do  not  wish  now  to 

take  Admiral  F 's  vacated  honours,  I  am  sure. 

However  I  laughed  at  the  romance  of  C ,  I 

never  doubted  the  blessing  of  God  would  attend 


202 


LETTERS. 


upon  your  leaving  the  Hospital,  because  you  did 
it  in  His  love.  How  many  restless  and  joyless 
members  of  God's  family  might  have  peace,  if 
they  would  go  and  do  likewise  :  if  they  had  cour- 
age to  cut  the  knot  they  cannot  disentangle.  I 
want  to  see  you  dreadfully;  I  must  beg  you  not  to 

fall  out  with  C till  we  have  been  to  visit 

you.  I  feel  a  wonderful  persuasion  of  coming 
next  year,  wonderful  for  me,  for  I  do  not  like  next- 
years.  When  I  was  single,  I  said  if  I  ever  kept 
house  I  could  have  no  salt  beef,  because  I  could 
not  provide  for  next  week;  it  seemed  too  long. 
However  the  beef  comes  ready  salted,  and  plea- 
sures innumerable  have  come  ready  sweetened 
and  prepared;  and  found  me  ready  to  accept 
them  and  be  grateful  to  the  Giver,  baiting  nothing 
of  enjoyment  for  lack  of  expectation.  Now  what 
am  I  to  tell  your  felicity-ship,  of  this  w7orking-day 
world  of  ours  !  Nothing  now,  for  the  sun  is  come 
out,  and  I  am  off,  and  you  must  wait  the  next 
rainy  day. 

Thursday,  March  2. 
To  resume. — Great  part  of  our  friendly  popula- 
tion are  away  at  Brighton;  and  we  are  enjoying 
our  uninterrupted  homeliness,  a  little  disposed,  in 
one  sense,  to  walk  disorderly  of  late,  that  is,  to 
walk  away  to  Mr.  M on  a  Sunday.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  not  beyond  the  reach  of  "  rumours 
of  wars,"  &c.  It  has  occurred  to  me,  whether  it 
might  be  that  a  war  would  break  your  peace.     I 


LETTERS. 


203 


hope  not,  for  one  who  has  served  his  country  so 
long  and  well,  may  justly  claim  the  remainder  of 
his  years  to  serve  another  master,  and  enjoy  his 
better  wages  ;  not  that  any  body  believes  we  shall 
have  war,  except  the  students  of  prophecy,  who 
are  all  alive;  and  they  prefer  revolution,  I  believe, 
which  seems  nearer  at  hand.  If  God's  time  be 
come,  we  have  no  interest  in  wishing  it  postponed  ; 
but  till  we  see  the  sign  of  His  coming,  "  Give  peace 
in  our  time,  O  Lord  !"  is  the  heart's  natural  prayer; 
and  I  do  not  like  out-running  God's  judgments,  to 
go  before  his  wrath.  It  seems  as  if  we  were  less 
patient  of  iniquity  than  He  is.  Indeed,  with  all  I 
have  seen,  and  learned  of  his  goodness  and  long- 
suffering  pity,  it  is  the  greatest  trial  of  my  faith,  to 
believe  that  there  will  ever  be  an  end  to  it.  But 
He  has  said  it.     Now  how  much  love  will  you 

please  to  deliver  for  me,  to  Sir ,  with  some  to 

the  country  lass,  for  whom  my  respect  increases. 
Mr.  Wilson  would,  lam  sure,  wish  me  to  say  for 
him  all  manner  of  fine  things,  both  laudatory  and 
congratulatory.     Do  write  often,  and  whenever  it 

rains  you  shall  have  first  turn Farewell.     I 

have  not  told  you  that  we  are  well,  but  we  are  so, 
in  mind,  body,  and  estate, — to  God  be  the  praise  ! 
Shall  you  come  up  or  down  this  winter?  Or  do 
you  scorn  us  utterly? 

I  am  ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


OQj.  LETTERS. 


XXXII.— TO  LADY  ***** 

February  1,  1841. 


My  dear  Lady , 

I  am  afraid  you  have  thought  me  long  in  writing. 
That  you  may  never  think  otherwise  than  the.  truth 
about  it,  allow  me  to  say  that  in  the  daily  division 
of  my  time,  there  is  none  properly  assigned  to  let- 
ter-writing; which  therefore  has  to  abide  the 
chance  of  wet  weather,  indisposition,  or  other  ac- 
cidental opportunities.  Some  reason  I  had  for  de- 
lay, in  the  expectation  of  hearing  from  Seeley  of 
your  MS.  As  it  has  not  appeared,  I  conclude  he 
thinks,  as  I  should  expect  to  be  the  case,  that  it 
does  not  require  correction.  I  have  considered 
fully  and  deliberately  all  you  say  upon  the  painful 
subject  of  our  correspondence,  and  feel  I  agree 
with  it  wholly  and  without  reserve.  It  was  early 
days  in  this  mischief  that  I  wrote  my  work  ;  and  it 
w7as  framed  more  to  defend  the  healthy,  than  to 
cure  the  already  infected.  I  doubt  it  is  in  many 
cases  necessary  to  give  the  poison  and  antidote  to- 
gether. But  the  more  I  deliberate,  the  more  I  feel 
assured  I  am  not  the  person  for  the  undertaking 
you  propose;  however,  if  your  machinery  were  in 
motion,  I  might  occasionally  assist  it.  I  will  say 
nothing  of  disinclination  to  controversy,  that  would 
be  a  bad  reason  :  but  I  plead  unfitness;  I  am,  if 
truth  be  told,  too  much  a  woman  to  play  with  such 


LETTERS. 


205 


dangerous  weapons  safely;  apt  to  be  sharp  when 
warmed  in  the  conflict,  and  to  wound  when  1  do 
not  mean  it;  and  a  great  deal  too  sensitive  in  my 
own  nature,  to  brave  the  wounds  I  may  receive 
for  reprisal.  Beside,  lam  unfavourably  situated, 
by  the  great  goodness  of  God;  out  of  sight, 
and  almost  out  of  hearing  of  the  strife,  except  by 
remote  effects.  I  live  in  a  small  circle  of  like- 
minded  friends,  and  never  meet  Puseyites,  unless 
some  youth  from  college  strays  this  way,  or  non- 
sense-talking girl ;  so  that  I  really  know  not  half 
that  you  do,  of  the  actual  workings  of  the  system, 
and  the  phases  under  which  it  must  be  practically 
viewed  and  dealt  with.  If  I  may  form  a  judgment 
from  your  letters  upon  the  subject,  no  one  would 
be  so  competent  as  yourself  to  meet  the  mischief 
and  treat  it  in  its  home  characters.  Why  not  take 
out  of  those  letters  you  speak  of,  what  may  be  in- 
jurious to  Dissenters,  and  so  publish  them  ?  For 
my  own  part,  I  refuse  to  fight  on  any  ground  but 
the  Word  of  God.  I  love  the  Prayer  Book,  and  I 
approve  the  Homilies;  but  I  can  make  no  stand 
there;  because,  if  Tractarians  can  prove  their  opi- 
nions in  any  degree  upon  the  authority  of  the 
Church  of  England,  I  then  demur  to  the  Church. 
It  is  human.  If  the  church  is  with  them,  the 
church  is  wrong.  Such  is  my  real  mind  upon  this 
subject,  that  if  all  Christendom,  past,  present,  and 
to  come,  should  be  brought  to  give  countenance  to 
these  errors,  it  would  not  move  me — to  anything 
but  grief — for  there  the  Rock  of  ages  stands,  un- 
18 


206  LETTERS. 

moved,  immoveable,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  for  ever;  the  same  whether  they  will  hear  or 
whether  they  will  forbear;  the  same  to  me,  if  not 
a  foot  beside  were  found  still  standing  on  it.  I 
care  for  the  church  only  because,  and  only  as  long, 
as  she  Herself  stands  thereon.  Meantime,  she  is 
but  the  superstructure,  with  all  her  excellence; — 
not  the  foundation.  I  will  abide  by  and  defend, 
but  may  not  build  upon  her:  I  will  argue  for  her, 
but  not  from  her.  Still  I  do  think  with  you,  that 
Puseyism  is  purely  sectarian ;  and  that  Puseyite 
ministers  break  their  ordination  vows.  The  vari- 
ous modes  you  mention  of  meeting  the  subject, 
seem  all  good;  but  are  they  not  occupied  already? 
I  see  advertisements  of  publications  almost  daily, 
which  seem, — for  1  do  not  read  them, — to  take  up 
the  subject  in  almost  every  form.  The  difficulty 
of  getting  the  already  biassed  to  read,  is  certainly 
great  in  all  such  cases;  but  that  is  a  state  of  mind 
so  uncandid,  they  would  hardly  be  benefited  if 
they  did  read.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  disapprove 
of  your  plans  and  suggestions, — quite  otherwise: 
and  would  promote,  as  I  might  find  opportunity, 
though  I  cannot  originate  or  undertake  anything; 
so  at  least  is  my  present  impression;  leaving  it 
open  to  the  all-directing  Hand  to  employ  me  as  He 
will,  if  He  should  judge  otherwise,  and  make  ma- 
nifest His  pleasure  to  me.  Do  not  let  this,  or  my 
slowness  in  replying,  deprive  me  of  ihe  pleasure 
of  hearing  from  you,  and  hearing  all  that  you  are 
inclined  to  sav,  and  doin^  all  I  can  do,  to  assist 


LETTERS.  207 

your  endeavours.  I  am  sure  they  will  do  good,  for 
your  heart  of  hearts  is  in  it,  and  God  will  bless 
your  talent  to  His  own  use.  No  wonder  you  find 
all  errors  intermixed  in  this.  It  has  been  said,  that 
Adam  was  the  first  Pope;  if  so,  he  was  the  first 
Puseyite;  and  it  belongs  by  inheritance  to  every 
natural  man;  it  is  the  religion  of  fallen  humanity, 
and  therefore  has  more  or  less  been  as  it  were  the 
colouring  matter  of  every  device  of  the  Father  of 
Lies  for  the  separation  of  the  church. 
Yours,  &c. 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XXXIII.— TO  LADY  ***** 

March  12,  1841. 


My  Dear  Lady 


The  first  paragraph  of  your  letter  makes  me 
ashamed.  I  am  not  the  busy,  useful,  industrious 
being  you  take  me  for,  and  I  am  not  sure  I  did 
right  to  say  I  had  not  time  for  letters.  There  is  a 
sense  in  which  it  is  true,  but  it  does  not  apply  to 
my  correspondence  with  you.  Having  nothing  to 
do,  but  what  I  please,  from  my  first  waking  hour 
to  the  last,  I  found  nothing  so  easy  as  to  fall  into  a 
habit  of  getting  rid  of  time  without  knowing  what 
became  of  it;  and  you  know  how  soon  the  mind 
falls  into  the  habit:  and  when  a  day  has  passed,  in 


208 


LETTERS. 


writing  nothings,  and  saying  nothings,  and  doing 
nothings,  what  a  brain  full  of  nothings  will  surely 
remain.  The  withdrawal  of  all  intellectual  im- 
pulsion and  compulsion  from  without,  would  soon 
have  reduced  my  sometimes  overwrought,  and 
therefore  weary  brains  to  this  condition,  if  I  had 
not  made  laws  to  myself,  that  such  and  such 
hours  should  be  so-and-so  employed,  and  should 
not  be  intruded  upon  by  trifling  occupations; 
among  which,  I  ought  not  to  have  reckoned  my 
correspondence  wiih  you,  as  correspondence  in 
general,  because  your  letters  are  both  good  and 
useful,  as  well  as  pleasant,  and  leave  other  than 
useless  thoughts  upon  the  mind.  I  make  it  a  law 
to  write  for  several  hours  every  day,  then  I  am  a 
devotee  to  air  and  exercise,  whether  to  tread  the 
earth  or  dig  it;  and  Blackheath,  you  know,  is  nei- 
ther on  the  top  of  a  lonely  mountain,  nor  in  the 
heart  of  a  wilderness;  and  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  being  either  "  engaged"  or  "  not  at  home." 
Enough  of  self:  but  you  will  perceive  how  mere  a 
fid-fad  I  might  become,  if  I  did  not  say  to  myself, 
"Those  letters  must  wait  for  a  wet  day,  and  not 
break  in  upon  my  hours  of  study." 

Your  last  letter  deeply  interested  me.  You  will 
be  struck  as  I  was,  with  the  remarkable  coinci- 
dence of  our  thoughts,  at  probably  the  same  mo- 
ment: so  much,  that  I  am  induced  to  inclose  the 
extract  of  what  I  had  written  a  day  or  twro  before 
I  received  your  letter:  coming,  by  so  different  a 
process,  to  so  similar  a  conclusion.     I  was  writing 


LETTERS.  209 

upon  the  incarnation,  quite  irrespective  of  anybo- 
dy's views  of  doctrine,  but,  intent  only  upon  my 
subject,  wrote  myself  into  the  conclusion,  without 
any  premeditation,  or  design  of  proving  it,  that  a 
Papist  or  Puseyite  cannot  believe  the  deity  of 
Christ.  Thus,  while  you  were  inferring  from  their 
language,  &c,  with  which  you  are  familiar,  that 
they  do  not  believe  the  doctrine;  I,  who  know  no- 
thing of  that,  had  by  a  directly  opposite  process, 
inferred  for  the  doctrine  itself  that  it  could  not  be 
so  believed.  I  enclose  the  extract,  as  it  stands  now, 
in  a  work  I  am  writing,  but  may  be  many  times 
altered  before  it  reaches  the  press.  Your  observa- 
tions will  not  certainly  induce  me  to  weaken  it.  I 
inclose  again  the  Review,  which  I  do  not  want,  or 
can  get  again.  I  wish  the  Semi-Puseyites  could  be 
made  to  see  the  danger  of  their  concessions,  and 
the  folly  of  their  talk:  where  every  inch  of  ground 
they  yield  gives  standing-room  for  the  assailants. 
Verily,  if  our  ministers  had  been  bred  soldiers  or 
philosophers,  they  would  have  learned  better  wis- 
dom ;  if  indeed  there  be  no  treason  in  the  heart. 
In  lack  of  both,  a  little  memory  might  serve  them. 
Cannot  they,  who  are  so  anxious  to  restore  the  for- 
mularies of  the  church,  remember  what  that  church 
was  before  they  were  disused?  Oh!  I  fear  the 
leaven  is  in  the  heart — Cl  members  one  of  another," 
but  not  as  "the  body  of  Christ."  I  am  not  sure  if 
I  ever  saw,  or  only  heard  of,  your  son  as  the  fa- 
vourite pupil  of  my  brother;  he,  I  am  sure,  will  be 
gratified  by  what  you  tell  me  of  his  fidelity  to  the 
18* 


2]0  LETTERS. 

truth.  Never,  I  believe,  was  there  a  moment  in 
which  trimming  was  so  dangerous,  so  ruinous; 
and  though  it  is  a  light  word,  it  has  a  deep,  a  dead- 
ly import.  The  evangelical  church  itself,  even  as 
distinct  party,  has  become  unsound ;  and  we  witness 
the  strange  anomaly  of  an  ultra-calvinist  contend- 
ing for  baptismal  regeneration.  I  read,  with  pecu- 
liar interest,  your  mention  of  God's  dealings  with 
yourself; — fitted  indeed  to  give  a  just  and  painful 
accuracy  to  all  your  views  and  thoughts  upon  these 
matters,  adding  in  some  sense  knowledge  to  your 
faith,  even  in  respect  of  errors  and  corruption, 
which  we  know  only  by  deduction  from  the  truth 
that  opposes  them.  To  the  "  why"  of  a  heart  that 
must  so  long  to  be  at  rest,  we  can  only  answer, 
who  is  the  Lord  of  hosts  so  likely  to  employ  upon 
the  field,  in  difficult  and  dangerous  times,  as  the 
one  who  has  seen  most  service.  Certain  we  are, 
that  whatever  he  requires,  he  bestows;  the  battle 
is  not  ours,  but  God's.     With  all  Christian  interest 

and  regard,  I  am,  my  dear  Lady , 

Sincerely  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS.  211 

XXXIV. TO  LADY  ***** 

April  23,  1841. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  hope  you  have  not  left  town,  seeing  your  letter 
dated  a  fortnight  back;  I  have  been  absent  from 
home,  and  only  found  it  on  my  return.  It  has 
pleased  God,  since  I  wrote  to  you,  to  send  a  cloud 
over  my  dwelling-place:  occupying  for  some  time 
my  thoughts  and  feelings:  by  the  death  of  a  sister, 
at  my  house,  very  unexpectedly,  and  with  painful 
circumstances  attending.  I  have  since  been  away, 
for  the  refreshment  of  our  spirits  from  the  shock. 
I  go  so  rarely  to  London,  partly  for  lack  of  a  car- 
riage, and  more  for  lack  of  inclination,  that  I  have 
almost  entirely  lost  my  sometimes  numerous  ac- 
quaintances there,  and  do  very  seldom  either  go 
or  stay  therein.  A  more  determined  country- 
mouse  does  not  exist.  I  loved  society  once,  but  I 
don't  now.  I  loved  nature  always,  and  better  now 
than  ever.  I  never  go  to  London  with  my  own 
good  will,  although  so  near  it:  and  generally  in 
the  bustle  of  a  day's  business;  I  can  scarcely 
therefore  hope  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you. 
Perhaps  we  must  all  feel  a  measure  of  satisfaction 
in  the  outbreak  at  Oxford;  it  promises  a  crisis; 
their  submission  is  affected,  and  will  issue  in  defi- 
ance, perhaps  separation,  which  may  serve  the 
church,  while  it  loses  them.     I  think  they  can  onlv 


212  LETTERS. 

fortify  themselves  now  by  isolation ; — by  becom- 
ing a  party,  and  making  proclamation  of  war. 
This  will  do  good,  for  all  except  themselves:  how- 
ever we  may  feel  for  those  within,  we  cannot,  we 
must  not,  regret  to  see  the  cordon  de  sante  drawn 
rigidly  round  the  dwellings  of  the  infected.  I  am 
told  by  a  student  from  Oxford,  that  a  Newspaper 
is  to  be  substituted  for  the  Tracts.  We  do  not  ex- 
pect, of  course,  that  they  will  be  silenced.  With 
all  kindness  and  respect, 

Sincerely  yours, 
Caroline  Wilson. 

P.  S.  On  re-perusing  your  note,  I  perceive  you 
have  not  seen  No.  90.  It  exceeds  credibility  in 
evil  daring.  I  am  told  Newman  is  a  lost  man :  in 
intellect  and  spirits  confused  and  crushed ;  I  am 
inclined  to  think  the  best  issue  would  be  their  ab- 
sorption in  the  church  of  Rome;  it  would  save 
numbers  who  will  ever  follow  a  separate  banner. 
I  perceive  too,  that  I  have  not  thanked  you  for 
kind  wishes,  and  expressions  of  interest;  and 
promises  of  prayer  that  availeth  much,  and  is 
never  undervalued  by  those  that  know  their  need. 
Neither  have  I  said  how  much  I  should  like  to 
meet  you,  while  yet  acquiescing  in  the  inutility  of 
a  brief  and  tumultuous  morning  call.  You  have 
not  mentioned  when  you  expect  to  leave  town. 


LETTERS.  213 

XXXV.— TO  LADY  *  *  *  *  * 

Blachheath,  June  19,  1841. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  did  not  think  I  could  be  so  long,  without  ac- 
knowledging your  last  kind  enclosure;  so  very 
kind  when  you  had  so  much  to  do.  I  was  glad 
too  to  find  that  you  are  satisfied,  that  all  is  doing 
that  can  be  done,  to  meet  the  painful  need  at  pre- 
sent. I  think  so  too,  and  every  day  see  fresh  ad- 
vertisements. There  is  one  from  Mr.  Goode,  who 
is  likely,  I  think,  to  vindicate  spiritual  truth  faith- 
fully. I  dare  say  you  have  heard,  that  a  gentle- 
man in  London  has  printed  and  sent  by  post  Bishop 
M'llvaine's  charge,  to  every  clergyman  in  the 
kingdom.  This  is  truly,  as  you  suggested,  to 
make  a  good  use  of  the  new  freedom  of  the  press, 
given  us  by  the  reduction  of  postage.  I  hear 
much  of  the  Bishop  of  Chester's  last  charge,  no 
doubt  it  will  be  printed  ;  all  this  is  good  ;  and  I 
have  heard,  I  am  not  sure  with  how  much  truth, 
that  a  Tutor  has  been  displaced  from  Baliol  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  for  introducing  Puseyism  into  a  lec- 
ture. On  the  other  hand,  I  hear  anxiety  expressed, 
do  you,  who  probably  know  more — participate  in 
it?  that  a  Conservative  government,  will  fill  the 
bench  with  Puseyites.  If  this  be  so,  what  are  we 
to  wish  for  ?  I  believe  it  can  only  be  that  God  will 
do  his  own  wise  and  holy  pleasure  in  all  things, 


2  [4  LETTERS. 

without  reference  to  our  choice  in  any  matter. 
Charlotte  Elizabeth,  who  knows  and  cares  so 
much  for  Ireland,  thinks  a  change  of  government 
will  put  a  stop  to  much  of  the  good  doing  in  Ire- 
land,— Is  it  so? 

Your  extracts,  printed  and  in  manuscript,  are 
very  excellent,  and  very  sad ;  as  confirming  our 
own  sad  impressions  of  the  real,  the  final,  and  the 
fatal  bearing  of  these  views. 

I  hope  you  are  enjoying  your  release  from  the 
bustle  of  London  life,  still  surrounded  and  occu- 
pied by  those  you  love.  Leamington  has  not  es- 
caped the  Oxford  epidemic,  I  believe, — what  has? 
I  was  going  to  say,  who  has?  but  thank  God,  there 
are  still  a  few,  and  the  gladness  of  one's  heart,  as 
ever  and  anon  one  meets  with  them,  is  a  compen- 
sation, some  compensation  at  least,  for  the  per- 
petual and  heart-breaking  change  of  tone,  detected 
everywhere  around  us.  Would  this  be  recovered, 
even  by  the  annihilation  of  ihe  party,  as  such  ?  I 
am  afraid  not.  The  confusion  of  mind  about  re- 
generation in  baptism,  is  undermining  all  truth  in 
the  evangelical  party, — quite  apart  as  they  think 
and  intend,  but  not  really  so, — from  Tractarian 
views.  Oh  !  how  much  poison  people  swallow 
without  detection  or  suspicion.  Well,  we  can  trust 
God  with  the  care  of  his  own  truth,  and  we  may 
pray  Him  to  take  care  as  well  of  our  valued  and 
endangered  church  ;  most  of  all  that  our  own 
hearts  grow  not  cold,  on  the  abounding  of  iniquity 
and  error,  so  as  to  cede  the  lonely  and  forsaken 


LETTER?.  215 

standard.  Let  me  have  the  pleasure,  some  day, 
of  another  letter  from  you  ;  for  believe  me,  I  value 
them  highly,  and  am,  my  dear  Lady, 

With  sincere  esteem,  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XXXVI.— TO  LADY  ***** 

December,  1841. 
Dear  Milady, 
With  all  thanks  for  your  obliging  inquiries;  I 
have  not  gone  down  during  the  late  gales,  which 
is  all  that  can  be  said,  for  I  do  not  find  I  like  it 
much  better  than  I  did  last  year:  but  having  no 
harbour  of  refuge  out  of  the  house,  I  was  obliged 
to  betake  myself  to  walking  up  and  down  between 
two  baize  doors  that  have  been  put  up  in  the  pas- 
sage. I  observe  you  make  no  allusion  to  anything 
in  my  former  letter;  but  I  conclude  you  received 
it.  Thank  you  very  much  for  yours,  as  bright  as 
ever.  Why  do  you  thus  endanger  the  tenth  com- 
mandment? It  has  been  a  beautiful  season  every- 
where—  saving  the  winds — which  yet  were  no- 
thing like  last  year's  and  did  us  no  sort  of  mischief; 
a  hard  frost  last  week,  and  now  again  warm  as 
spring.  This  was  true  when  I  wrote  it.  I  dare 
say  there  was  much  of  truth  in  your  judgment  of 
your  young  neighbours, — but  the  line  is  narrow, 


216  LETTERS. 

an  error  on  one  side  is  nothing  compared  to  an 
error  on  the  other;  and,  I  believe  you  know  I  al- 
ways thought  you  a  little  too  lax  in  the  reading 
for  young  ladies;  did  I  not?  Whether  so  or  other- 
wise, as  applied  to  the  present  question,  we  know, 
dear  milady,  there  is  much  that  is  attractive  in 
mind  and  person,  that  is  nevertheless  contrary  to 
purity  and  simplicity  in  a  young  female,  and  much, 
how  much !  that  is  pleasing  to  the  natural  mind, 
which  is  nevertheless  contrary  to  godliness.  I  do 
not  advocate  a  vacant  mind,  but,  if  there  were 
nothing  good  to  fill  it,  which  cannot  be,  it  is  better 
than  a  polluted  one.  You  will  perceive  therefore, 
I  concur  with  your  pastor  in  the  principle,  though 
there  may  be  extremes  in  the  practice.  If  one 
sin,  aye  or  one  sinful  thought  be  spared  them  by 
this  abstinence,  they  will  not  be  the  losers,  will 
they?    What  have  I  to  tell  you?     We  are  losing 

our  friends  the ,  who  leave  Blackheath   at 

Christmas.     I    do    not   know   what   Mr.    Wilson 

means    to    say  to   Sir  's  delightful  letter  : 

pious  curates  are  scarce  since  they  all  turned  Pu- 
seyites.  I  know  one  sound  and  useful  man,  who 
has  a  curacy  of  £100  a  year  without  a  house,  and 
would  be  glad  indeed  to  get  a  better;  particularly 
if  where  he  could  take  in  a  couple  of  pupils:  the 

Rev.  Mr. of . 

This  letter  has  been  a  week  in  getting  itself 
written,  and  here  it  ends.  With  all  love  and 
affection,  &c. 

Ever  yours, 
Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


217 


XXXVII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

December  18,  1841. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  writing  again. 
I  had  become  quite  unhappy,  because,  having  let 
time  so  unconsciously  pass  after  the  reception  of 
your  former  letter,  I  did  not  know  where  to  ad- 
dress you.  A  few  days  only  before  the  coming 
of  your  last,  I  had  sent  to  inquire  if  Seeley  could 
tell  me  your  present  abode.  Thank  you  very 
much  for  relieving  my  difficulty.  I  received  your 
former  communication  on  the  eve  of  leaving  home 
for  our  usual  summer  ramble,  and  did  fully  intend 
to  answer  it  while  out;  but  I  did  not  do  so,  and 
then  it  was  too  late  on  my  return,  as  I  believed, 
to  find  you.  Now  my  long  loitering  book  is  done, 
and  gone  out  of  my  hand,  and  I  am  quite  at 
leisure:  and  believe  me,  very  happy  to  resume  a 
correspondence  on  which  I  set  great  value.  To 
answer  your  kind  inquiry  first,  the  Blackheath 
fire  was  not  within  reach  of  us,  and  occurred  dur- 
ing our  absence.  The  people  were  strangers  here, 
but  it  was  a  very  distressing  scene.  I  have  read 
with  great  attention  the  sermon  you  kindly  send; 
I  do  not  think  the  language  of  page  18,  19  can  be 
admitted  at  all,  without  so  much  concession  to 
Puseyism  as  throw's  all  into  their  hands,  though 
the  preacher  does  not  so  intend.  Is  not  this  the 
19 


21g  LETTERS. 

whole  secret  of  our  danger  and  our  ruin?  (that 
men  see  not  the  issue  of  their  concession)  for 
ruined  we  shall  be  at  this  rate  by  our  advocates, 
if  such  they  are ;  I  mean  our  peace-makers. 
"  We  have  the  Scriptures,"  but  we  are  not  left  to 
our  own  "  unassisted  and  erring  judgment,"  &c, 
&c,  to  deduce  the  truth  from  them.  True,  but 
what  is  to  help  us?  Not  the  Holy  Spirit,  who 
wrote  the  Book  and  can  alone  throw  light  upon 
it ;  but  "  a  complete  rule,"  composed  alas !  by 
other  erring  judgments  and  dim  lights;  but  capa- 
ble of  a  completeness  which  the  Word  of  Inspira- 
tion wants!  And  how,  after  all,  does  this  infalli- 
ble authority  end?  Just  as  it  always  does:  in  the 
"I  have  said"  of  the  preacher.  The  Bible  is 
judged  by  the  church — the  church  by  the  preach- 
er— and  the  preacher,  as  he  always  must  and 
ought  to  be,  by  the  hearers;  and  if  some  recusant, 
sitting  in  the  corner  of  a  pew  during  the  sermon, 
chooses,  by  his  own  unassisted  and  erring  judg- 
ment, to  decide  that  "Our  own  church  does  teach 
and  enjoin  things  that  she  is  not  prepared  to  deduce 
and  prove  from  Scripture,"  there  is  an  end  of  the 
complete  rule.  The  Scriptures  only  can  decide  the 
controversy,  and  we  end  where  we  had  better 
have  begun  :  in  deducing  the  truth  "  afresh"  from 
the  Book  of  Truth.  I  do  not  so  speak  in  verbal 
criticism  upon  this  sermon,  but  merely  to  show 
what  I  am  strongly  convinced  of,  that  there  is  no- 
thing between  the  full  exercise  of  private  judgment 
on  the  written  Word,  and  the  infallible  authority 


LETTERS-  219 

of  an  individual  head — a  Pope — even  the  apostolic 
priesthood  will  not  do,  because  they  will  not  agree. 
You  may  place  an  equal  number  of  them  on  either 
side  of  your  dinner-table:  produce  a  certain  text 
from  the  Bible,  and  ask  them  what  it  means;  their 
interpretation  shall  be  not  only  different,  but  con- 
trary. On  which  side  of  your  dinner-table  is  the 
authority  of  the  church  ?  And  verily  you  shall 
fetch  the  Prayer  Book  and  not  help  them :  for  the 
one  half  will  say  the  church  teaches  baptismal  re- 
generation, and  the  other  that  she  does  not.  We 
cannot,  because  we  ought  not,  to  have  peace  on 
such  terms  as  these.  It  can  be  so  achieved  only 
as  it  has  been  before ;  there  can  be  but  one  of  two 
infallibles — Christ,  and  Antichrist. — He  who  is 
God ;  and  he  who  shows  himself  as  if  he  were 
God.  I  am  convinced  there  is  no  medium ;  and 
our  ruin  is,  that  well-intentioned,  peace-loving 
men,  do  not  perceive  this.     Is  not  the  real  panacea 

contained  in  Mr. 's  last  page?     Excuse  me 

all  this. 

The  only  passage  in  my  writings  I  now  recal 
upon  the  subject  you  desire,  is  found  in  the  "  Lis- 
tener in  Oxford,"  pages  175 — 178.  I  know  you 
have  the  work,  else  I  would  copy  it.  I  think  some 
part  of  it  is  to  the  purpose,  but  I  will  think  farther, 
and  remit  anything  else  to  you  that  I  find,  or  that 
occurs  to  me  to  say  of  it  hereafter.  Your  little 
Tract  is  very  good  to  its  intent ;  I  shall  be  happy 
to  distribute  it.  But  what  has  become  of  your  own 
book?     I   never   heard   more   of  it.     There   are 


220  LETTERS. 

some  sad  little  attractive-looking  children's  books 

in  circulation,  by  N 's  sister,  that  need  to  be 

exposed.  I  am  going  to  do  something  in  it  by  a 
Review,  perhaps:  but  I  have  "fired  my  periodi- 
cals," and  can  do  little  more,  I  fear.  We  were 
this  summer  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  looked  in 

upon  poor ,  one  Friday,  in  the  chambers  of 

his  imagery.  Thank  God  !  indeed,  we  may,  that 
that  misleading  is  over.  It  was  sad  to  see  Chris- 
tians, true  Christian  people  crowding  to  his  chapel; 
and  declaring  that  he  still  preached  the  gospel;  so 
completely  had  he  preached  them  into  forgetful- 
ness  of  what  the  gospel  is,  as  they  once  heard  it 
from  himself.  But  he  was  too  honest  a  man  :  and 
all  who  are  so,  must  do  as  he  has  done ;  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  not  find  many.  We  have  been 
pleased  to  find  Dr.  Arnold  of  Rugby  taking  so 
strong  a  position  against  them  :  on  the  ground  that 
the  church  is  not  the  ministry,  but  the  members.  I 
am  afraid  I  have  given  you  some  proof  herein  of 
a  fit  of  idleness,  by  all  this  idle  talk.  You  seem 
to  have  a  great  many  children :  have  you  not?  I 
cannot  think  how  you  can  find  time  to  write:  and 
yet  I  hope  you  can ;  for  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to 

me.     I  am,  my  dear  Lady , 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


221 


XXXVIII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

December  5,  1841. 

My  dear  Lady , 

Very  kind  you  are,  to  indulge  me  with  such  a 
family  picture ;  blessed  in  you,  and  a  blessing  to 
you,  I  am  sure.  By  the  help  of  the  night-lamp 
too,  I  discover  how  it  is  you  find  so  much  time  to 
write,  in  the  midst  of  all  your  patriarchal  cares.  I 
have  ransacked  the  far  places  of  my  memory  in 
vain,  to  recal  a  single  impression  of  an  interview  I 
once  had  with  you;  my  sister  tells  me  it  was  at 
Tunbridge  Wells,  thirty-one  years  ago ;  but  so  full 
of  bustle  and  of  change,  has  been  to  me  the  tread 
of  time  in  subsequent  years,  I  find  earlier  impres- 
sions fairly  trod  out  of  my  poor  brain,  while  they 
are  distinctly  remembered  by  others.  Great  is 
God's  goodness  to  the  creatures  of  his  hand,  whe- 
ther he  blesses  with  many  or  with  few;  for  I  can- 
not help  contrasting  the  full  casket  of  your  trea- 
sures, with  mine — full  too,  yet  made  to  hold  but 
one. 

Excuse  so  much  of  self,  a  sign  the  book  is  done; 
which  you  must  allow  me  the  gratification  of  send- 
ing you  when  it  is  out.  I  can  hardly  tell  you  the 
name,  as  that  is  the  last  thing  decided  upon;  but  I 
am  sure  that  Christ  is  the  subject;  I  have  written 
it  under  more  than  usual  discouragement.  Many 
even  of  my  own  friends, — and  of  the  public  many 
19* 


222  LETTERS. 

more, — who  would  once  have  welcomed,  and  re- 
joiced in  the  truths  it  contains,  will  now  disrelish, 
dispute,  and  perhaps  reject  them.  "Who  hath  be- 
lieved our  report,"  is  the  altered  language  now  of 
those  who  remain  unaltered,  whereas  they  w7ere 
once  upon  the  popular  side.  So  at  least,  I  think  it 
will  be  more  and  more,  for  what  I  call  the  out  and 
out  evangelical  doctrines;  the  full  entire  Gospel; 
such  as  a  now  almost  extinct  generation  of  pious 
ministers,  in  and  out  of  the  church,  preached  it, 
and  bequeathed  it  to  us;  but  left,  as  I  fear,  few 
successors  to  themselves.  But  may  we  not  regain 
by  opposition,  what  we  have  lost  by  amalgama- 
tion 1  It  was  not  popularity  produced  those  men, 
though  it  finally  embraced  them.  God  knows  his 
own  purposes,  and  we  know  that  they  are  good. 
It  should  suffice  us.  Thank  you  for  all  that 
you  enclosed,  especially  the  very  nice  "  Mother's 

Thoughts,"  which  I  do  like  very  much  ;  S has 

not  sent  the  MS.  to  which  I  have  full  leisure  now 
to  give  attention,  and  at  all  times  would  do  so  at 
your  request.     I  felt  much  pleased  by  what  you 

said  of  Archdeacon  ,  not  having  read  the 

,  but  knowing  it  to  be  Puseyite :   but 

when  I  repeated  it  to  a  clergyman,  one  of  the 
truest  I  now  know,  he  said  it  was  impossible  to 
take  out  of  the  book,  the  false  views  that  pervade 
it  throughout.  Is  this  so?  I  shall  like  very  much 
to  see  your  letters.  It  is  easier  to  write  in  some 
cases  than  to  speak,  but  it  is  a  pity,  when  differ- 
ences must  be  controversy, — too  much  the  case 


LETTERS. 


223 


just  now.  I  hear  we  are  to  have  a  triumph  at 
Oxford  as  to  the  poetry  chair,  in  which  I  feel  great 
interest,  for  the  sake  of  the  craft,  as  well  as  of  the 
University ;  but  most  for  the  honour  of  the  church 

and  its  religion.     If  I  had  known  Mr. to  be 

your  son-in-law,  I  might  not  have  ventured  to  criti- 
cise his  sermon. 

What  is  true  on  one  side,  is  true  on  the  other; 
and  while  there  are  many  who  are  of  Israel,  yet 
are  not  Israel,  there  are  some  of  every  party  who 
are  not  under  its  condemnation ;  and  will  eventu- 
ally be  proved  to  have  miscalled  themselves.  I 
am  sure  you  may  hope  this  of  all  your  dear  chil- 
dren, who  are  now  differing  from  you.  Christ's 
sheep  do  often  lose  themselves,  but  He  can  never 
lose  them. 

With  the  best  wishes  of  this  best  season,  believe 

me,  dear  Lady 

Sincerely  and  obliged,  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


224  LETTERS. 


XXXIX.— TO  LADY  *  *  * 

January  22,  1842. 

Dear  Milady, 
The  month  of  January  is  arrived,  and  I  must 
inquire  after  the  ponies;  to  whom  I  beg  to  make 
the  compliments  of  the  season,  and  if  they  stand 
so  much  my  friends  as  to  bring  you  hither,  I 
promise  them  every  manner  of  civility,  excepting 
that  of  being  run  away  with  by  them.  Whether 
I  will  ever  give  them  an  opportunity,  must  remain 
doubtful,  till  I  see  them ;  though  I  am  by  no  means 
so  bad,  as  I  was  in  that  particular.  Of  course 
you  can  feel  no  surprise,  at  the  precedence  here- 
in given  to  your  favourites  ;  before  I  express  either 

sorrow  or  hope  about  dear  Sir  J 's  gout,  &c, 

my  thoughts  being  simply  intent  upon  seeing  you ; 
and  my  purpose  in  writing  to  know  when  you 
will  come, — much  more  important  than  the  coming 
of  the  king  of  Prussia.  You  must  really  give  us 
as  much  notice,  as  you  give  yourselves,  because 
if  we  have  not  to  fit  up  St.  George's  Hall,  I  am 
sure  there  are  friends,  who  will  desire  to  be  en- 
gaged to  meet  you,  and  don't  be  niggardly  of. 
time.  We  have  beautiful  weather  now,  but  I 
could  have  wished  you  here  at  a  better  season, 
for  such  a  house  as  ours.  We  will  do  what  we 
can  to  keep  you  warm  :  w7ithin  if  not  without.  Mr. 


LETTERS. 


225 


Wilson  said  I  should  tell  you  he  left  Staffordshire, 
when    quite    a    boy,    therefore    knows    not    your 

present  world.     O  fie  !  it  was  not  Mrs.  B ,  but 

your  own  letters;  and  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  till  I 
ask  the  ponies.  With  the  best  wishes  of  the  season, 
and  every  season  to  yourself  and  Co. 

Affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XL.— TO  LADY  *  *  *  * 

February,  22,  1842. 


My  dear  Lady 


It  may  seem  strange,  but  it  is  true,  that  at  this 
moment  I  have  it  not  in  my  power  to  comply  with 
your  wishes.  I  never  make  but  one  manuscript 
copy  of  what  I  write  for  the  press,  and  that  is  in 
the  printer's  hands.  The  proof  has  passed  through 
mine,  and  is  in  his  hands  also.  I  cannot  send  for 
it,  because  I  do  not  know  in  which  sheet  the 
passage  is,  and  I  am  as  utterly  unable  to  recal  my 
own  words,  as  if  they  were  any  body's  else.  I 
think  the  inclosed  extract  has  not  been  altered  as 
far  as  it  goes;  but  there  is  apparently  something 
before,  and  something  between,  which  are  neces- 
sary to  perfect  the  extract.  In  the  former,  it  is,  I 
know,  a  direct  mention  of  Socinianism,  something 


226  LETTERS. 

to  the  effect  that  they  are  consistent,  in  that,  not 
believing  the  divinity  of  Christ,  they  do  not  pre- 
tend to  trust  their  salvation  to  him.  The  latter 
omission  is  something  to  the  effect,  that  He  who 
judges  will  do  it  individually,  not  by  communities, 
because  in  the  soundest  community  there  may  be 
dishonest  hearts,  whose  pure  creed  will  not  save 
them,  and  in  the  most  unsound,  there  may  be 
wrong-headed  people,  who  neither  understand  nor 
intend  what  they  profess.  These  are  not  the 
words,  but  the  purport  of  them.  I  have  every 
reason  to  expect,  that  the  work  will  be  out  in  a 
few  weeks.  If  you  can  wTait,  the  earliest  copy 
shall  be  forwarded  to  you,  if  you  will  kindly  tell 
me  how  and  where  ;  and  then  make  whatever  use 
you  please  of  it.     I  am  tempted  to  send  you  the 

inclosed,  which  will  appear  in  the 

next  month  ;  but  you  will  please  to  keep  the  secret, 
as  to  the  writer  entirely  to  yourself.  We  are 
much  comforted,  by  the  choice  of  the  new  Bishop. 
It  has  been  told  me,  that  he  selects  for  his  ex- 
amining chaplain,  the  most  pious  young  man  in 
the  University.  Is  the  new  Irish  Bishop  one  of 
your  family  1 

With    pleasant    anticipations    of    your   coming 
packet,  believe  me,  my  dear  Lady, 
Ever  Yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


227 


XLL— TO  LADY  *   *  * 

February  28,  1942. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  have  read  your  interesting  document  with 
critical  attention,  but  I  find  nothing  in  it  that  can 
be  objected  to,  according  to  my  own  estimate  of 
divine  truth.  The  sacrifice  of  truth  to  unity  is 
the  ruinous  device  of  the  Evil  One,  that  needs  to 
be  scrutinized  and  exposed  ;  because  it  is  so  well 
calculated  to  catch  the  simple  and  unsuspicious 
under  the  loved  and  ever  lovely  name  of  peace. 
There  is  a  remark  worthy  of  all  observance,  in 
the  volume  of  Ridley,  just  issued  by  the  Parker 
Society  :  either  of  his  or  Latimer's  ;  that  unity  in 
anything  but  the  truth,  is  not  concord,  but  con- 
spiracy. My  dear  old  minister,  William  Howels 
the  only  pope  I  ever  was  in  danger  of  acknowledg- 
ing on  my  own  behalf,  was  used  to  remark,  that 
the  Scripture  direction  is  to  be  "  first  pure,  then 
peaceable,"  which  might  never  be  reversed,  to 
give  precedence  to  the  latter. 

Your  paper  will  be  read  with  interest,  and  I 
doubt  not  with  the  blessing  of  heaven,  by  your 
children's  children,  perhaps  for  many  generations. 
Dr. 's  share  in  it  is  very  good. 

No  doubt  you  are  a  subscriber  to  the  Parker 
Society.  It  bids  fair  to  be  a  rich  mine  of  gospel 
verity  to  strengthen  and  invigorate  our  rapidly  en- 


228  LETTERS. 

feebling  hands.  Of  course,  whatever  be  the  pre- 
text for  a  declaration  of  war,  justification  by  faith 
alone,  and  regeneration  by  the  Spirit  alone,  is  the 
ground  on  which  the  weary  conflict  must  be  main- 
tained, and  all  be  lost  or  won.  Satan  cares  as 
little  about  rubrics  and  formularies,  apart  from 
these,  as  the  lowest  churchman  amongst  us.  The 
party,  I  had  very  nearly  said  his  party,  at  Oxford, 
have  not  hesitated  to  say  that  high-church  and 
low-church  does  not  signify :  it  is  the  Calvinism 
that  must  be  exterminated,  a  name  that  in  their 
tongue  I  have  no  doubt  stands  for  what  we  mean 
by  the  Gospel — the  perfect  work  of  Christ. 

I  shall  take  care  of  your  paper,  till  further  orders, 
and  beg  you  to  believe  me, 

Your  obliged  and  affectionate 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XLIL— TO  LADY  ***** 

March  24,  1842. 
Dearest  Milady, 
We  have  been  much  too  long  without  commu- 
nication from  you,  and  with  you.  I  find  by  ex- 
perience the  proverb  must  be  reversed,  "  no  news" 
is  very  seldom  "  good  newTs  ;"  but  generally  con- 
trariwise. I  suppose  the  old  enemy  must  oc- 
casionally be  contended  with  :  and  it  is  encourag- 


LETTERS. 


229 


ing  to  hear  you  speak  cheerfully  of  the  winter  past, 
notwithstanding  your  sick-room  labours  and 
anxieties.  It  shows  you  are  yourself  better,  and 
more  comfortably  situated,  which  greatly  tends  to 
lighten  your  affectionate  toil.  It  has  been  a  very 
fine  and  cheerful  winter :  and  having  had  few 
storms  without  and  none  within,  I  find  myself  in 
very  good  keeping.  We  look  to  your  coming 
with  great  desire  :  and  however  it  may  be  delayed, 
you  will  surely  come  at  last ;   so  I  mean  to  think, 

as  pertinaciously  as  I  thought  to  see  you  at  C 

last  summer  ;  I  never  found  castle-building  a  bad 
practice.  I  write  to  you  rather  the  sooner,  for 
for  that  I  expect  to  be  from  home  all  next  week. 
Mr.  Wilson  is  going  to  spend  it  with  his  relations 
in  Worcestershire,  and  I  am  going  with  him  for 
the  simple  purpose  of  not  being  left  behind.  You 
will  observe  by  the  papers,  the  death  of  Mrs.  H — 's 
brothers.  The  first,  and  younger,  was  a  very 
sudden  but  most  beautiful  death  ;  leaving  a  wife 
and  family;  the  second,  occasioned  no  doubt,  by 
the  former,  a  single  man,  and  the  last   brother.     I 

dare  say  Mr.  H will  have   written   you  the 

account  of  it,  as  I  know  he   corresponds  with  Sir 

J .     It  is  truly  such   a  death   that  one  might 

long  to  be  allowed  to  die. 

Thank  you  for  the  sermon :  and  yet,  I  almost 
regret  when  you  make  me  speak  about  this.  If 
your  pastor  were  an  unknown  man,  I  should  hear 
with  simple  satisfaction  what  you  say  about  him, 

on  his  account  and  yours.     But  Mr. is  not  uo- 

20 


230  LETTERS. 

known,  and  the  more  favourably  you  speak  ofhim 
the  more  uneasy  I  grow  on  your  account.  If  by 
unprejudiced,  dear,  you  mean  indifference  to  the 
empoisoning  leaven,  that  is  so  rapidly  corrupting 
the  pure  stream  of  gospel-truth,  so  full,  so  blest  of 
late  years  in  our  church,  and  throwing  into  confu- 
sion the  minds  of  God's  own  people ;  speaking 
merely  of  that  modification  of  Tractarianism  which 
would  disown  its  name,  and  so  be  only  the  more 
dangerous  to  the  simple-minded, — you  may  ask  no 
such  thing  of  me,  dear  friend  ;  I  am  not  one  to 
stand  indifferently  by,  while  the  strong-holds  of  our 
faith  are  assailed  on  the  one  hand,  and  betrayed 
on  the  other,  and  undermined  on  all ;  you  know 
me  too  well  to  think  so.  But  a  candid  opinion  you 
shall  have  upon  this  or  any  other  subject  on  which 
you  ask  it;  so,  candidly,  I  find  nothing  amiss  in 
the  sermon  except  two  expressions,  "  Alms  at 
God's  altar,"  page  1,  and  ''Opportunities  of  re- 
ceiving the  Body  and  Blood  of  Christ,"  page  8 ;  a 
mode  of  speaking  better  understood  by  me,  per- 
haps, than  by  many  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 
So,  leaving  criticism,  I  think,  or  rather  we  think, 
for  we  read  it  together,  and  made  the  same  re- 
mark; it  is  very  poor,  and  does  not  effect  in  us  the 
only  purpose  for  which  it  seems  intended — to  make 
the  coin  bestir  itself  in  our  pockets;  the  sad  and 
urgent  facts  of  the  case  being;  known  to  us  before 
through  other  channels.  Now  all  this  will  vex  you: 
and  I  do  not  like  to  vex  you ;  but,  if  you  really  are 
so  innocent  as  not  to  know  why  /,  an  out-and-out 


LETTERS.  031 

Evangelical,  a  Low  Churchman,  a  Calvinist,  any- 
thing or  everything  that  you  may  please  to  call  it, 

do  not  like  Mr.  P ,  just  ask  Mr.  P how  he 

likes  me,  and  perhaps  he  will  bring  you  to  a  better 

understanding  of  the  difference.    Or  ask  Sir  J , 

if  you  like,  why  when  all  is  making  ready  for  the 
battle,  the  fleets  do  not  lie  pele  mele,  one  amongst 
the  other. 

Mrs.  W is  so  urgent  upon  me  not  to  forget 

her  kind  remembrances,  pray  consider  them  as 
sent.  She  has  moved  to  the  Heath  again,  and  is 
quite  well.  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  more  news, 
except  that  the  13 s  are  likely  to  lose  their  se- 
cond daughter,  Georgiana.    Mr.  L has  now  a 

religious  curate,  who  is  doing  some  good  in  the 

parish.     So  much  for  gossip.     Love  to  Sir  J 

and  the  young  ladies.     I  shall  come  and  see  you 

some  day,  in  spite  of  Mr.  P ,  but  not  till  after 

your  visit  here  :  in  May,  I  cannot  give  you  longer. 
Tell  Miss  Fanny  we  are  all  "solfa-ing  it;"  and  I 
expect  when  next  we  meet  Mr.  Wilson  will  sing 
a  second  with  her  in  great  style. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson-. 


232 


LETTERS. 

XLIIL— TO   LADY  ***** 

April  13, 1842. 


My  dear  Lady 


The  long-expected  book  has  come  at  last.  I 
have  inscribed  the  lowly  offering  to  yourself,  and 
put  it  in  S 's  hands  to  transmit  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ;  for  I  take  it  to  be  too  heavy  for  the  post. 
Meantime,  I  lose  not  a  day  to  enclose  the  extract 
you  desire;  and  have  added  another,  of  the  same 
import.     Do  with  either  what  seems  to  you  good. 

Indeed,  indeed  it  is  a  serious  thing  to  write  a 
book,  or  say  any  thing  that  cannot  be  unsaid — re- 
voked— recalled — however  we  may  change.  Most 
grateful  above  all  persons  I  have  cause  to  be,  that 
by  a  peculiar  providence,  I  was  withheld  from  the 
public  exercise  of  my  talent  for  scribbling,  till  the 
truth  of  God  had  taken  full  possession  of  my  mind  ; 
and  thus  escaped  the  guilt  and  misery  of  its  unhal- 
lowed use ;  and  all  the  regrets  that  might  have 
been  helplessly  suffered,  in  seeing  my  own  foolish 
words  remain  in  action  on  the  minds  of  others.  I 
think  often,  with  mixed  gratitude  and  horror,  on 
what  I  should  have  written,  had  I  written  once. 

Thank  you  much  for  all  the  contents  of  your 
packets  ;  I  like  the  Tract  very  much,  as  I  do  eve- 
rything you  write  or  say.  I  wish  this  sad,  sad 
subject  lay  not  so  near  to  your  personal  feelings 
and  affections.     Without  any  such  interests,  one 


LETTERS.  233 

has  enough  lo  do,  to  keep  one's  mind  in  peace 
about  it;  and  I  am  sure  it  must  sadly  intrude  itself 
on  yours.  But  I  may  write  no  more  now,  lest  I 
detain  the  inclosure,  which  you  want.  The  book 
I  hope  will  soon  follow  it,  and  meet  with  some  ac- 
ceptance in  your  experienced  judgment.  It  will 
be  too  strong  for  most,  I  know  that;  but  so  many 
like  to  read  my  books,  who  like  not  the  whole 
truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus,  I  had  a  mind  for  once  to 
force  it  on  their  attentions.  Excuse  haste,  and  al- 
low me  to  be, 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

Caroline  Wilsox. 

"  One  class  of  persons  we  know  there  is,  who 
profess  not  to  believe,  that  the  Crucified  was  God ; 
and  there  is  so  much  of  consistency  in  their  creed 
they  do  not  profess  to  trust  their  salvation  to  him  : 
whatever  value  Socinians  set  upon  Christ's  death 
as  man,  they  do  not  consider  it  that  perfect  and 
sufficient  atonement  for  sin  which  it  can  be  only  as 
he  was  God.  But  there  is  another  class  of  whom 
I  think  with  more  wonder  and  some  doubt;  who 
do  profess  to  know  the  infinite  character  of  the  one 
great  sacrifice  and  satisfaction  made  for  sin,  and 
recognize  in  the  blood  of  the  covenant  the  blood  of 
God ;  yet  make  so  light  of  it,  take  at  so  little  its 
efficacious  value,  one  scarcely  can  think  that  they 
believe  it.  Grosser  than  his  who  thought  the  gift 
of  God  could  be  purchased  for  money  ;  baser  than 
his  who  parted  with  it  for  one  morsel  of  meat,  is 
20* 


234 


LETTERS. 


the  estimate  of  Christ's  atoning  blood,  by  those 
who  think  its  efficacy  can  lose  or  gain,  by  admi- 
nistration of  their  own  poor  polluted  hands;  or 
aught  that  they  can  add  to  it  or  take  from  it.  I  do 
not  make  myself  their  judge  to  decide  a  question, 
which  may  decide  their  everlasting  state  ;  I  believe 
by  Him  who  judges,  it  will  be  decided  individual- 
ly;  not  in  communities  or  communions,  whether 
held  together  by  error  or  by  truth.  In  the  truest 
communion  there  are  wrong-hearted  ones,  whose 
pure  creed  will  never  save  them ;  in  the  most  un- 
sound there  may  be  wrong-headed  ones,  who  do 
not  understand  or  intend  their  own  profession ; 
and  so  may  escape  its  guiltiness.  God  knows,  but 
when  we  see  this  precious  blood  postponed,  its  effi- 
cacy made  dependent  on  names,  and  forms,  and 
places,  and  ceremonies;  ordinances,  institutions, 
works,  sufferings,  merits,  or  wdiatever  else  man's 
wit  can  substitute  therefor,  or  add  thereto;  and 
men  profess  to  find  more  safety  and  repose  in  these 
than  in  the  sole  value  of  the  death  of  Christ:  the 
doubt  forces  itself  upon  me,  and  I  return  it  to  every 
such  a  one,  and  bid  him  lay  it  deeply  to  his  heart, 
— whether  he  does  indeed  believe  the  Crucified 
was  God." — Christ  our  Lam,  p.  50. 

"Let  us  lose  ourselves,  and  renounce  ourselves, 
and  forget  ourselves  in  contemplation  of  the  glori- 
ous mystery:  (its  Incarnation,)  if  only  we  be  lost 
in  shame  with  it  for  our  low  estimate  of  its  cost  of 
our  redemption;  thinking,  as  we  do  sometimes,  to 


LETTERS.  235 

dispense  with  the  Saviour's  merits;  at  other  times 
to  purchase  his  merits  with  our  own ;  nor  that  the 
lowest  price ;  for  while  many  are  thinking  to  ob- 
tain salvation,  or  to  procure  the  benefits  of  Christ's 
death,  by  obedience  to  the  law  of  God,  depending 
for  acceptance  on  prayer,  and  penitence  and  bap- 
tism and  church-communion,  and  other  their  good 
works,  because  these  are  ordained  of  God,  and 
commanded  to  be  done :  not  a  few  are  merchan- 
dising for  the  same  precious  purchase  with  a  still 
baser  coin — with  forms  and  fantasies  of  their  own 
devising,  which  God  has  not  commanded,  and  for 
which  they  can  produce  no  law  at  all,  but  of  their 
own  making.  And  oh  !  the  depth  from  which  our 
thoughts  have  fallen  from  contemplation  of  that 
high  and  holy  theme !  even  to  behold  no  inconsi- 
derable number  whose  supposed  merits,  proffered 
to  Almighty  God,  as  substitutes  or  make-weights 
of  the  Atoning  Sacrifice,  are  things  in  actual  op- 
position and  contradiction  to  his  word.  Do  these 
believe  that  the  Crucified  was  God  1  We  ask 
again  and  leave  it." — Christ  our  Law,  p.  59. 


236  LETTERS. 


XLIV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

May  10,  1842. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  shall  be  very  much  pleased  to  receive  the  book 
you  promise  me;  that  or  any  thing  left  for  me  at 

Messrs.  H 's,  in  Mincing  Lane,  finds  its  way 

to  me  in  a  few  hours.  I  am  not  at  all  likely  to  be 
from  home  for  more  than  a  few  days  till  July,  and 
perhaps  not  then.  I  will  give  you  a  candid  opinion 
of  the  letters;  but  I  say  beforehand,  that  there  can 
be  no  reason  to  withhold  them.  The  words  of  a 
tried  and  experienced  Christian,  who  has  seen  so 
much  of  life  as  you  have,  must  be  valuable,  at 
least  to  those  who  are  entering  upon  it;  and  may 
be  very  strengthening  to  those  who  are  equally  ad- 
vanced, and  drawing  near,  as  you  are,  to  the  long- 
ed-for shore.  Sure  I  am,  at  least,  they  shall  not  be 
by  me  objected  to  on  the  ground  you  speak  of.  It 
is  the  wisdom  of  the  world,  not  of  God,  to  withhold 
the  truth,  and  make  compromise  with  error,  be- 
cause the  one  may  do  harm,  and  the  other  be  mix- 
ed with  good.  The  former  position  is  never  true, 
in  the  latter,  the  harmfulness  of  the  error  is  all  the 
greater  for  the  mixtures.  Of  the  works,  of  which 
you  ask  my  poor  opinion,  I  have  read  none,  except 
Father  Clement,  very  long  ago;  a  pretty  clear 
clear  proof  that  I  do  not  like  them,  but  that  is  wide 
of  the  question  whether  they  are  lawful.     I  should 


LETTERS. 


237 


not  say  unlawful— but  I  doubt  their  efficacy,  and 
suspect  their  general  tendency.  For  the  very- 
young  I  disapprove  them  wholly,  and  who  else 
will  read  them  ?  That  is  a  foolish  question  per- 
haps, because  a  great  many  others  do  read  them; 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  just  that  number  may 
derive  good  impressions  from  them,  which  they 
would  not  get,  because  they  would  not  seek,  in 
better  reading ;  I  mean  the  idle  readers  of  a  cer- 
tain age.  I  do  not  know,  but  1  so  thoroughly  dis- 
taste the  things,  I  am  afraid  lest  it  warp  my  judg- 
ment to  condemn  them  wholly:  had  I  a  family  to 
bring  up,  I  should  certainly  make  no  use  of  them. 
But  should  they  not  at  best  be  judged  of  individu- 
ally? I  apprehend  some  of  those  you  name  to  be 
much  worse  than  others:  and  if  they  are  to  be  to- 
lerated at  all  as  a  medium  of  conveying  religious 
truth,  it  must  be  with  a  strict  limitation  as  to  their 
character  and  bearing  in  other  respects.     #     #     # 

Your  next  problem,  my  dear  Lady ,  is  a 

more  difficult  one;  I  fear  beyond  my  solution  now, 
not  washing  to  detain  this  letter.  There  is  just 
that  difficulty  in  the  very  front  of  it,  which  so 
often  meets  me,  and  puts  my  wisdom  at  fault. 
People  ask  their  way  without  saying  where  they 
are  going;  and  I  may  direct  them  to  York,  while 
they  are  bound  for  Exeter. 

There  is  not,  there  cannot  be  one  road  for  those 
that  are  to  pursue  the  world  and  to  possess  it,  and 
those  that  are  to  renounce  it.  I  could  write  you 
a  volume,  to  prove  that  a  pious  parent  should  not, 


238 


LETTERS. 


and  could  not,  stimulate  and  fill  the  young  imagi- 
nation with  unhallowed  images  of  forbidden  things, 
to  become  the  torment  and  the  taint  of  a  mind  de- 
voted to  God,  and  conformed  to  his  holy  will; 
while  not  one  word  that  I  might  say,  should  be 
applicable  to  the  parent  who  wishes  and  intends 
that  the  child  should  succeed  and  shine  among  the 
gay,  the  loved,  the  happy  of  this  world's  society. 
For  after  all,  the  world's  poetry  is  better  than  its 
prose — the  dreams  of  fairy  land  are  better  than 
the  drudgery  of  mammon — the  wildest  disciple  of 
romance  is  more  lovely  in  her  generation,  than 
the  cold,  calculating  drawing-room  coquette.  That 
her  delusion  will  be  the  shorter  and  her  disappoint- 
ment the  surer,  is  no  great  evil:  for  the  fashion  of 
this  world  passeth,  the  game  is  soon  played,  and  it 
matters  little  whether  it  be  won  or  lost,  when  it  is 
ended.  If  I  look  to  gather  winter  stores  into  my 
garner,  I  plant  my  ground  with  one  thing;  if  I 
want  it  to  look  pretty  through  the  summer  season, 
I  plant  it  with  another.  Is  not  this  so?  But  no 
more  now,  except  the  sincere  esteem  of, 
Yours  ever, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS.  239 

XLV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

August  29, 1842. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  received  your  note,  and  soon  after  it  the  pro- 
mised book;  on  the  eve  of  departure  from  Black- 
heath  for  a  short  season  ;  and  thank  you  much  for 
affording  me  another  opportunity  and  excuse  to 
write.  I  thought  the  time  had  expired  for  your 
sea-side  address,  and  that  I  must  wait  another. 
The  book  I  looked  hastily  over  before  I  left  it  be- 
hind, quite  sufficiently  to  be  satisfied  of  its  cha- 
racter, and  I  trust  it  will  be  very  useful  to  a  not 
unimportant  class, — that  of  young  men  entering 
on  the  profession — with  a  wish  to  reconcile  its 
practices  with  the  mind  of  God.  The  difficulty  of 
this  in  every  profession,  trade,  or  calling,  as  now 
carried  on  in  the  world, — the  more  than  difficulty, 
I  should  say  impossibility,  of  following  any  after  a 
godly  sort,  without  the  sacrifice  of  its  temporal 
advantage  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  is  a  thing 
that  has  much  fixed  my  attention  through  life,  by 
the  opportunity  I  have  had  of  observing  the  spirit- 
ual difficulties  of  every  class  of  persons.  From 
the  least  to  the  greatest,  I  have  seen  that  the  ut- 
most the  god  of  this  world  proposes,  must  be  fore- 
gone, unless  some  manner  of  service  or  of  homage 
be  conceded  to  him.  "  All  this  will  I  give  to  thee, 
if" — must  be  heard  in  every  believing  heart ;  and 


240  LETTERS. 

the  choice  made  in  every  faithful  one,  to  be  less 
rich,  less  honourable,  less  successful,  in  this  world, 
than  he  might  have  been  if  the  love  of  Christ  con- 
strained him  not.  I  am  so  persuaded  of  this  my- 
self, I  always  purposed  if  I  had  children,  to  keep 
it  before  their  eyes  and  my  own,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  the  great  things  of  this  world  must  be 
righteously  renounced,  and  no  question  made,  how 
they  might  be  righteously  attained :  not  in  one 
path  only,  but  in  all,  from  the  bar  downward  to 
the  poor  waterman,  who  could  make  money  on  a 
Sunday,  if.  Is  there  any  stronger  evidence  of 
human  corruption,  and  the  present  reign  of  the 
evil  one,  than  this — that  the  most  lawful  calling 
cannot  be  righteously  pursued  without  departing 
from  the  common  practices  of  the  world,  and  leav- 
ing its  utmost  advantage  to  the  ungodly.  I  was 
much  pleased  with  your  approbation  of  our  dear 

friend  C M ,  and  so  was  he,  for  I  made 

him  a  party  to  your  observations.  Authors  sorely 
need  encouragement,  and  they  will  need  it  more 
and  more,  who  in  these  days  are  to  stand  against 
the  turning  tide.  When  I  leave  home,  I  feel  the 
truth  of  your  observation,  that  I  am  happy  to  live 
out  of  the  sphere  of  contention,  and  fire  my  poor 
missiles  from  a  distance.  It  is  difficult  to  go  many 
miles  from  home,  and  take  the  chances  of  a  single 
Sunday,  without  encountering  the  mischief  in  some 
form  or  other.  I  was  sadly  grieved  in  this  way  at 
*  *  *  last  Sunday,  more  perhaps  than  the  thing 
was  worth;  for  though  Mr. had  some  repu- 


LETTERS.  241 

tation  at ,  as  an  evangelical  minister,  I  never 

heard  him  fully  preach  the  truth,  nor  quite  believ- 
ed he  did,  though  others  thought  so.  I  was  quite 
unprepared,  however,  and  proportionately  shocked, 
to  hear  him  tell  a  large  congregation,  well  enough 
disposed  I  dare  say  to  believe  him,  on  the  text: 
"Make  your  calling  and  election  sure;"  that  the 
only  calling  and  election  here  spoken  of  was  al- 
ready their's,  by  birth  and  baptism  in  the  Christian 
church;  and  their  only  care  must  be  to  keep  it, 
and  make  sure  of  its  ultimate  benefits,  by  a  holy 
and  virtuous  life.  And  so  deeply  leavened  is  the 
sometimes  religious  world  with  this  insidious 
poison ;  so  confused  and  confounded  are  minds 
not  really  persuaded  or  perverted,  that  numbers 
sate  contented  with  the  hearing,  and  departed 
satisfied  wTith  what  they  would  sometimes  not 
have  endured  to  listen  to.  This  is  the  forecasting 
woe,  that  threatens  all  people,  to  strive  against 
Popery  and  Puseyism  all  the  week,  and  on  the 
Sunday  listen  to  their  perversions  without  know- 
ing it.  For  myself,  I  am  a  faint-hearted  coward, 
and  would  gladly  be  out  of  hearing  of  these  ru- 
mours of  wars;  but  I  am  ashamed  to  be  saying  all 
this  to  you,  who  have  to  bear  with  it,  and  to  deal 
with  it  so  much  more  nearly.  Does  it  not  some- 
times make  you  cry,  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how 
long?" 

I  have  not  your  former  letter  by  me,  and  am 
afraid  there  may  be  something  in  it  I  neglect  to 

answer  to.     If  you  see  the ,  you  will 

21 


242  LETTERS. 

find  in  the  ensuing  number  a  review  of  Tractarian 
Novelists;  Paget  and  Gresley  in  particular,  of 
which  you  will  detect  the  writer  perhaps.  They 
are  monstrous. 

It  is  rather  grievous  to  observe  to  what  extent 
also  the  periodical  press  is  in  possession  of  the 
enemy.  You  see  I  am  terribly  out  of  heart. 
Nevertheless,  there  seems  to  be  a  sound  gospel 
ministry  here.  I  call  to  mind  your  question  re- 
specting the  clearness  of  Mr.  M 's  writing.     In 

his  preaching,  being  extempore,  it  is  something 
quite  extraordinary.  I  was  pleased  to  have  my 
impression  of  it  confirmed  by  your  notice  of  it,  in 
connection  with  the  eagerness  and  rapidity  of  his 
delivery;  it  indicates  a  mental  power  of  a  very 
peculiar  character;  because  it  is  a  rapidity  and 
perspicuity  of  thought,  not  of  mere  language:  it  is 
the  mind,  and  not  the  tongue,  that  acts  with  such 
extraordinary  velocity  and  exactness.  I  am  afraid 
you  will  discover  by  my  prating,  that  I  am  under 
the  influence  of  watering-place  idleness.  I  expect 
to  return  home  next  week,  and  hope  to  be  soon 
obliged  with    another    communication   from  you. 

Meantime,  my  dear  Lady ,  believe  me, 

Sincerely  and  obliged  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


243 


XL VI.— TO   MRS.  T . 

September  7,  1542. 

My  very  dear  Friend, 

The  newspapers  have  made  known  to  me  your 
great  affliction :  what  can  I  say  to  you?  Nothing 
of  comfort  that  the  Holy  Ghost  has  not  already 
said  within  you,  but  only  a  few  vain  and  empty 
words  of  human  sympathy  and  love, — "  The  Lord 
gave,"  or  rather  lent,  and  if  we  ask,  why  should  he 
resume'?  we  must  first  answer,  why  should  he 
have  ever  given? 

Yours  was  indeed  a  brief  loan,  poor  dear  !  and 
because  I  know  your  more  than  common  desire 
for  children,  and  more  than  common  delight  in 
them,  I  estimate  very  deeply  your  present  suffer- 
ing. That  you  are  upheld  and  supported  under 
it,  I  am  also  sure,  for  your  heart  has  been  too 
long  given  to  Jesus,  for  you  to  refuse  him  any 
thing  beside ;  and  He  has  been  too  long  given  to 
you,  for  any  other  loss  to  leave  you  destitute. 

These  are  lowering  and  darkening  times,  dear; 
and  they  who  see  their  loved  ones  safe  on  shore 
before  them,  will  die  happier  than  they  who  leave 
them  on  the  deep:  you  cannot  feel  this  now,  but 
you  will.  Be  comforted  and  wait;  you  know  that 
I  say  to  your  dear  husband,  all  I  write  to  you,  and 
comprehend  him  in  all  I  feel  for  you.  At  your 
leisure,  and  entire  inclination,  not  before,  I  should 


244  LETTERS. 

like  to  hear  of  both  of  you.     We  are  just  returned 
from   our   usual   summer   holiday;   thank   God  in 
health.     With    Mr.   Wilson's   most  kind  regards, 
and  feeling  sympathies,  believe  me,  dear, 
Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XLVIL— TO  MRS.  T . 

September  20,  1842. 

My  dear  Friend, 

Your  letter  is  just  such  as  I  expected  from 
yourself;  the  voice  of  thanksgiving  from  a  broken 
heart — praise  in  the  depth  of  affliction.  Such 
choice  and  lovely  flowers  bloom  but  a  short  sea- 
son in  general ;  there  seems  but  little  of  the  dross 
of  earth  about  them,  and  why  should  they  bide 
the  fire. 

In  respect  of  your  wish  about  the  Epitaph,  I 
think  those  you  selected  very  appropriate ;  and 
should  hardly  expect  to  substitute  a  better  of  my 
own.  But  if  it  is  the  feeling  of  your  love  to  put 
something  of  mine  upon  the  tomb  of  your  precious 
child,  perhaps  the  inclosed  will  meet  your  wishes, 
which  I  have  penned  for  the  purpose.  It  is  not 
easy  to  select  within  the  given  compass;  I  send  it 
only  on  the  condition  that  you  make  no  ceremony 
of  rejecting  it,  if  you  prefer  another ;  since  it  is 


LETTERS.  245 

your  estimation  of  it  only,  that  can  give  it  value 
for  the  purpose.  I  write  in  haste  lest  you  should 
be  anxious  for  it.  Yes,  dearest,  I  have  ceased  to 
wish  for  children  long  before  my  death-bed.  It  is 
the  natural  desire  of  a  wife,  but  I  very  soon  found 
I  had  enough  to  love,  and  enough  to  lose.  The 
very  feeling,  at  first  so  painful,  that  if  I  should  lose 
my  husband,  I  should  have  nothing  left,  was  soon 
converted  into  a  thought  of  satisfaction.  I  should 
wish  to  have  nothing  left  in  this  world,  that  my 
whole  heart's  affections  might  be  transferred  at 
once,  and  the  last  tie  be  broken.  This  has  been 
long  my  feeling;  but  you  are  younger,  dear,  and 
must  not  so  desire.  You  have  blessings  left,  and 
they  must  bring  their  duties  and  their  cares,  and 
you  must  try  yet  to  enjoy  the  one,  as  well  as  fulfil 
the  other ;  and  you  will — God  will  comfort  you. 

Caroline  Wilson. 

Epitaph. 

Brief  thrall  of  sin 

His  spirit  held — in  Jesus  risen  again, 
Brief  be  the  tomb 

That  holds  his  body  now,  till  Jesus  come. 


21* 


24G  LETTERS. 


XLVIII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

October  25,  1842. 

My  dear  Lady , 

Though  I  have  been  too  long  in  saying  it,  I  hope 
you  will  believe  that  your  first  letter,  saying  most 
of  yourself  and  of  what  is  yours,  was  by  no  means 
the  least  interesting  to  me.  Indeed,  apart  from  the 
near  interest  I  have  in  Desford  Rectory,  that  is  a 
story  might  deeply  affect  any  heart,  feeling  and 
liking  to  feel  its  entire  dependence,  trusting  and 
liking  to  trust,  everything  to  the  control  and  de- 
termination of  the  Most  High.  Indeed  you  say 
right,  there  is  enough  there,  and  enough  every- 
where, to  shame  us  out  of  anxiety  of  any  kind. 
Mistrust  in  a  child  of  God,  is  the  most  irrational 
thing  in  the  world ;  but  seeing  that  we  are  such 
poor  frightened  children,  striking  interferences  of 
providence  like  that  you  mention,  are  very  gra- 
ciously given  from  time  to  time,  and  may  be  most 
profitably  repeated  and  contemplated,  for  our  en- 
couragement as  well  as  for  our  reproof.  You 
have  a  right  to  be  assured,  and  must  be  assured, 
that  you  will  not  be  turned  aside  permanently, 
however  opposed  by  adverse  influences  for  a  sea- 
son; and  we  will  hope  not  even  this.  I  have  no 
doubt  myself,  and  it  is  the  feeling  of  the  most  de- 
cided people  I  meet  with,  that  it  is  war,  not  peace, 
for  which  we  must  prepare  ourselves:  separation 


LETTERS. 


247 


not  union,  to  which  we  must  be  ready  to  submit,  if 
it  please  God  to  suffer  the  extremity  of  this  mis- 
chief. We  do  expect  the  Evangelical  party  must 
stand  out,  with  such  a  show  of  resistance  and  de- 
termination, as  will  either  force  respect  by  its  num- 
bers, influence  and  consistency,  and  afford  for  Zion 
a  stronghold,  and  a  safe  one  within  the  establish- 
ment; or,  as  will,  on  the  other  hand,  so  array  the 
hierarchy  against  us,  that  we  shall  be  cast  out, 
ministers  and  people  together,  from  the  parental 
roof;  and  if  on  the  one  hand  we  see  many,  who 
seemed  to  be  of  us,  going  out  from  among  us,  or 
compromising  all  that  is  most  precious  to  us,  those 
who  abide  are  waxing  stronger  and  stronger,  and 
gathering  as  it  were  in  expectation  of  the  conflict. 
Such  are  the  signs  of  the  times,  I  would  you  had 
no  more  personal  difficulties  and  anxieties  about  it 
than  I  have,  for  though  sore  distressed,  and  often 
very  sad  in  spirit  about  this  declension  in  the 
church,  and  obscuration  of  the  light  so  long  enjoy- 
ed, it  is  as  the  member  feels  for  the  body,  rather 
than  individually  for  itself.  I  shall  stand  by  the 
established  church,  as  long  as  she  will  let  me;  but 
I  feel  that  I  could  do  very  well  without  her,  if  it 
became  necessary.  It  would  be  a  great  loss  for 
this  world  ;  but  what  is  there  of  this  world  that  we 
cannot  do  without,  and  count  but  loss  that  we  may 
win  Christ:  and  having  won  him,  maintain  the 
purity  of  his  faith,   and   the   glory  of  his   name. 

No,  my  dear  Lady ,  I  have  not  discovered 

that  remedv,  nor  have  T,  like  some  others,  looked 


248  LETTERS. 

for  it,  for  I  never  believed  it  was  intended  in  the 
present  dispensation.  A  great  deal  was  thought 
at  one  time,  about  getting  pious  men  into  parlia- 
ment. Men  whose  social  position  did  not  require 
it  of  them,  (for  I  would  not  have  them  shrink  from 
it  where  it  does,)  put  themselves  forward,  and 
were  supported  by  the  religious  body  as  such,  in 
the  expectation  of  dethroning  Satan  there;  there 
was  an  honest  purpose  and  expectation  of  a  great 
deal  of  influence  for  good ;  and  I  found  myself 
almost  alone  in  my  opinion,  that  they  were  doing 
wrong.  In  the  stir  about  the  Sabbath  again,  in- 
stead of  catching  eagerly  and  thankfully  at  such 
poor  crumbs  of  relaxation,  as  would  have  been 
thrown  to  us  by  that  hard  taskmaster,  God's  peo- 
ple thought  to  have,  and  would  have  nothing  less, 
than  the  utmost  limits  of  his  law,  and  purpose. 
Perhaps,  too,  the  increase  of  religion  in  the  high 
places  of  our  church,  has  wakened  a  too  lofty  ex- 
pectation there,  which,  like  the  others,  will  disap- 
point itself.  I  have  had  but  one  mind  about  it  all, 
it  is  a  very  simple  view ;  but  nothing  has  disproved 
it  yet.  Our  Lord  is  gone  to  receive  a  kingdom  of 
his  Father,  he  did  not  commit  to  his  servants  the 
government  of  the  world  in  his  absence ;  but  left 
the  usurper  on  the  throne  till  He  returns.  Far 
other  was  his  last  behest  to  them,  "Love  not,  touch 
not,  taste  not,  handle  not."  He  did  not  ask  his 
Father  then  to  give  it  them  ;  far  other  was  his  last 
prayer  for  them.  His  people  will  reign  with  Him, 
they  cannot  reign  without  him,  they  may  not  pre- 


LETTERS. 


249 


vail  to  have  the  domination  any  way  until  He 
come  again,  and  the  God  of  this  world  is  cast  out. 
The  Assistant  of  Education,  respecting  which 
you  inquire,  was  a  periodical  publication  edited  by 
me  for  many  years,  and  really  written  almost 
wholly  by  myself.  The  Listener  was  a  part  of  it, 
also  the  Scripture  Readers'  Guide,  now  a  separate 
work,  in  the  11th  edition.  Several  of  those  you 
mention,  I  hope  may  be  separate  works  some  time, 
as  I  have  them  so  prepared ;  but  would  not  take, 
and  could  not  get  others  to  take,  the  risk  of  their 
publication.  About  the  advertisement  you  speak 
of,  I  am  surprised  ;  as  I  believed  the  work,  as  a 
whole,  to  be  out  of  print.  My  publisher  failed  and 
disappeared.  I  cannot  tell  who  has  advertised  it. 
Still,  if  you  get  it,  there  is  nothing  of  consequence 
in  it  that  is  not  my  writing ;  and  a  good  deal  that 
might  be  used  in  education,  religion  apart.    Indeed 

I  should  consider  the  " ,"  a  very  nice 

and  valuable  gift  to  make  to  many  persons.  Your 
secrets,  be  assured  are  quite  safe  with  me,  and  I 

doubt  not  so  with  S ;  and  I  shall  be  pleased  to 

see  your  Letters  in  print.  I  can  hardly  make  up 
my  mind,  what  to  be  doing  next:  but  I  cannot  be 
idle  long,  for  my  own  mind's  sake.  Circumstances 
give  more  weight  to  the  question  of  profit,  than  I 
could  wish  it  had,  in  the  choice  of  subject:  but 
this  too  is  of  God,  and  perhaps  I  require  the  im- 
pulse to  keep  me  going.  Nevertheless  I  hope  I 
wait,  and  am  sure  I  ask,  for  his  direction  in  it. 


250  LETTERS. 

This  is,  I  fear,  a  desultory  epistle;  but  your  kind- 
ness excuses  everything,  and  you  will 

Ever  believe  me  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


XLIX.— TO  LADY  ***** 

November  22,  1842. 

My  Dear  Lady 

I  have  received  safely  your  inclosure,  which 
shall  be  carefully  kept  till  I  have  further  directions 
from  you  respecting  it.  Greatly  indeed  I  am 
grieved  to  hear  of  your  serious  indisposition;  I 
can  only  hope  and  pray  it  may  be  but  a  temporary 
alarm, — a  word  I  do  not  apply  to  you,  but  to  those 
who  cannot  spare  you.  I  will  not  impose  a  long 
letter  on  you  now,  lest  you  weary  yourself  to 
answer  it;  instead  of  just  telling  me  you  are  get- 
ting well.  I  think  I  do  not  understand  your  pro- 
position respecting  regeneration :  that  is,  I  under- 
stand your  negative  as  to  the  baptismal  service — 
there  is,  and  ever  must  be  a  weak  point,  when  we 
attempt  to  defend  our  church,  in  her  formularies 
at  least,  though  I  believe  not  in  her  intentions.  I 
say,  "defend  the  church,"  because  heartily  as  I 
would  at  all  times  defend  our  establishment  by 
Holy  Scripture,  I  refuse  all  defence  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture by  the  opinions  of  our  church.     What  I  do 


LETTERS.  251 

not  understand  is  your  view  of  regeneration  as  a 
change  of  state:  I  think  you  do  not  seem  to  mean 
a  change  from  a  state  of  nature  to  a  state  of 
grace  ;  from  a  state  of  condemnation  to  a  state  of 
justification  ;  as  the  high  church  party  do,  and  as 
we  do ;  and  yet  I  cannot  think  what  other  change 
of  state  can  be  in  your  mind.  In  the  passage  you 
allude  to,  the  word  regeneration  evidently,  I  think, 
means  the  resurrection  of  the  body  to  renewed  ex- 
istence ;  which  by  analogy  would  strengthen  our 
view  that  its  ordinary  meaning  is  the  resurrection 
of  the  soul  to  spiritual  existence,  when  it  passes 
from  death  unto  life.  This  we  believe  regenera- 
tion to  be,  and  this  we  wish  to  disconnect  from  the 
baptismal  service,  otherwise  than  as  between  the 
sign  and  the  thing  signified  ;  which  may  or  may 
not  be  in  connection  at  any  given  time.  And  this 
we  wish  to  make  our  church  say,  as  far  as  we  can, 
because  if  she  will  not,  we  must  not  defer  to  her 
opinion  against  what  we  believe  to  be  the  mind  of 
God  as  manifest  in  Holy  Writ.  Mr. wish- 
ed to  make  the  church  in  the  right ;  but  many  who 
think  him  scripturally  unanswerable,  are  not  satis- 
fied with  his  defence  of  certain  phrases  in  the 
Prayer  book.  For  my  own  part,  as  I  profess  not 
to  expect  perfection  in  anything  that  comes  from 
the  hands  of  man,  I  would  rather  stand  upon  the 
Articles,  and  the  general  purport  of  her  services, 
and  give  up,  as  unfortunate  and  objectionable,  the 
few  expressions  that  have  led  to  so  much  mischief 
and  misapprehension.     I  would  rather  regret  the 


252 


LETTERS. 


blemish  on  her  fair  cheek,  than  attempt  to  paint  it 
out.  But  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by 
a  change  of  state  as  effected  in  baptism;  only,  not 
till  you  are  well  enough  to  write  at  ease.  The 
Bishop  of  London's  Charge  has  thrown  a  huge 
mass  of  ballast  into  our  sinking  boat,  which  threat- 
ens to  swamp  us  utterly.  But  no  more  now; 
while  God  is  on  our  side,  we  will  not,  and  we  do 
not  fear  what  man  can  do  against  us.  With  the 
deepest  interest  in  your  health,  and  all  that  con- 
cerns you,  believe  me,  my  dear  Lady 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 

P.  S. — I  should  like  to  know,  whether  in  the 
case  of  your  death,  the  secret  of  your  authorship 
is  to  be  for  ever  kept. 


L.— TO  LADY  ***** 

January  3,  1843. 

My  dear  Lady 

Many  thanks  for  all  your  kind  communications: 
I  am  now  so  much  on  the  debtor  side,  I  think  we 
shall  not  cross  upon  the  road.  I  quite  understand 
your  term  now,  as  synonymous  with  what  we  call 
High  Church  ;  but  still  think  the  latter  the  belter, 
because  the  more  familiar  term.    Perhaps,  to  avoid 


LETTERS. 


253 


all  the  difficulties,  of  calling  things  by  different 
names,  which  are  only  degrees  of  the  same  thing, 
is  better.  Nevertheless  Tractarian,  High  Church, 
and  Evangelical,  would  be  three  things  in  the  eyes 
of  most  readers.  I  think  your  proposed  addition 
to  the  book,  quite  unobjectionable;  and  as  regards 
the  word  catholic,  it  may  be  useful.  I  was  much 
pleased  to  get  another  copy  of  your  little  book,  as 
it  enabled  me  to  send  the  first  into  the  servants' 
room.  I  have  received  also  the  two  volumes  of 
Poetry :  but  alas  !  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  no  lover 
of  poetry.  I  was  born  a  poet,  and  bred  a  poet; 
and  am  perhaps  too  much  of  a  poet  still,  but  alas! 
What  a  requisition  you  have  made,  to  read  two 
volumes  of — what  shall  I  say?  However,  I  will 
try  at  your  request  to  look  again  ;  at  present  I 
simply  confess,  I  have  found  more  Puseyism  than 
poetry.  There  are  many  reasons  for  reading  bad 
prose  ;  but  I  never  yet  could  find  a  reason  for 
reading  or  writing  bad  poetry;  just  because  there 
is  no  necessity  for  poetry  at  all.  I  hope  you  will 
not  be  angry  at  this  affront  to  your  friend's  muse  ; 
but  you  confess  you  have  not  read  them. 

I  have  not  written  any  more  in  the  C , 

than  I  have  named  to  you — except  two;  when  I 
do  so,  I  will  tell  you. 

I  note  your  suggestions  about  Union  :  but  fear  I 
am  too  hopeless,  to  be  the  instrument  of  promot- 
ing it.  I  never  knew  a  moment  at  which  it  seem- 
ed so  impossible,  except  by  previous  separation 
from  the  church;  and  even  then,  if  the  people  of 
22 


254 


LETTERS. 


God  within  the  church  should  become,  as  I  think 
they  ultimately  will,  a  severed  but  united  body, 
the  state  of  the  dissenting  churches  is  most  un- 
favourable to  anything  like  union  with  us,  on  that 
side.  Already  they  are  taking  advantage  of  our 
strife,  to  attack  both  sides ;  and  it  appears  to  me 
also,  that  their  spirituality  as  a  body  is  as  much 
on  the  decrease,  as  their  ill-will  toward  the  Estab- 
lishment is  on  the  increase.  I  am  entirely  per- 
suaded myself,  that  there  can  be  no  union;  but  an 
agreement  to  differ  in  love,  about  all  that  is  not 
necessary  to  salvation.  Never  alas  !  were  we  ap- 
parently so  far  from  this.  It  may  come,  but  I 
think  it  can  be  only  through  a  time  of  such  oppo- 
sition, and  persecution,  from  the  world  and  its 
church,  as  shall  force  the  church  of  Christ  to  stand 
together,  in  its  defence.  Accept  the  best  wishes, 
of  this  beautiful  and  bountiful  season,  come  in  with 
such  unusual  brightness. 

I  am  indeed  rejoiced  and  thankful,  that  you  are 

tolerably  well  again.     My  dear  Lady 

Yours  in  real  union, 
Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS 


255 


My  dear  Lady 


LI.— TO  LADY  ***** 

February  6,  1843. 


I  am  in  arrears,  I  fear,  with  all  your  kind  com- 
munications, and  books  too;  which  I  am  giving 
away  discreetly,  and  hope  they  will  do  good.     I 

mean  ten   copies   of  the  " ."     AH 

you  write  about  disunion  is  most  true,  most  sen- 
sible ;  but  alas  !  it  is  retrospective,  and  w7hat  can 
that  avail  1  You  say  "  if  dissenters  had  remained, 
instead  of  separating."  I  doubt  not  you  are  right; 
but  that  is  past.  I  do  not  know  to  what  particu- 
lar period  of  separation  your  extract  refers.  If  to 
that  of  the  ultra-calvinist  separation,  under  Messrs. 

B ,  &c;  they  long  ago  broke  up,  and  God  and 

the  world  took  each  their  own  amongst  them.  If 
the  Irvingite  party, — they  are  already  joined  in 
heart  to  the  Puseyite  faction;  and  will  join  hand, 
when  they  can  do  it  without  shame.  Other  de- 
nominations of  dissenters  already  show  themselves 
awakened  by  our  strife:  but  are  taking  arms,  to 
wound  us  on  both  sides.  Even  if  they  were  better 
disposed  to  peace  than  I  fear  they  are,  we  can  no 
longer  invite  them  to  return  into  our  fast-crumb- 
ling edifice,  out  of  which  wre  are  momentarily  ex- 
pecting to  be  expelled. 

A  very  learned  and  pious  clergyman  here  the 
the  other  dav,  wished  to  change  the  name,  Dis- 
senters,  and  unite  the  pious  of  all  sorts,  under  the 


256  LETTERS. 

name  of  Consenters ;  you  would  consent  to  this,  but 
would  you  be  prepared  to  see  the  whole  body  of 
God's  people  in  the  Establishment  withdraw  from 
it,  to  form  this  Consentient  Church  !  For  my  own 
part,  I  could  be  content  to  see  it,  if  God  did  it;  but 
I  could  not  resolve  to  be  the  doer  of  it:  because, 
better  as  the  vital  part  might  be  without  its  en- 
cumbrance of  worldly  intermixture,  the  disloca- 
tion would  be  terrible,  and  its  effects  upon  the 
world  and  its  church  most  lamentable.  Besides,  I 
agree  w7ith  you  about  the  present  and  temporal 
advantages,  among  many  spiritual  disadvantages, 
which  the  temple  of  our  God  derives  from  the  sur- 
rounding mass  of  outer-court  worshippers;  or  the 
advantages,  at  least,  which  society  derives,  from 
the  temporary  amalgamation.  Alas !  it  is  not  on 
our  side  now,  that  the  pulling-down  of  bulwarks  is 
threatened :  and  our  words  will  have  little  effect 
upon  our  opponents.  It  has  been  always  foreseen 
by  the  far-seeing  and  deep-thinking,  that  the  high- 
church  and  evangelical  parties,  being  not  differing 
but  opposed  in  principle,  could  only  adhere  by  suf- 
ferance on  the  part  of  the  majority: — unity  was 
impossible.  Most  of  us  fear  that  the  time  is  come, 
when  that  sufferance  will  be  refused  ;  and  then  the 
minority  must  secede.  I  desire,  on  my  own  part, 
that  it  should  be  the  act  of  our  unnatural  mother, 
to  cast  us  from  her  bosom,  rather  than  ours  to 
abandon  her,  even  in  her  corruption,  while  liberty 
of  conscience  is  allowed  on  the  disputed  points. 
Approving  therefore  entirely  your  "Extracts,"  I 


LETTERS. 


25? 


do  not  see  them  applicable  to  the  present  crisis.  I 
pray  God  to  protract  it, — and  he  may;  but  the 
feeling  of  most  is  that  the  crisis  approaches,  more 
or  less  near,  some  say  ten  years — some  say  ten 
months.  Much  depends  upon  the  government.  Jf 
they  grant  a  convocation,  or  meddle  with  church 
matters  in  parliament,  the  numbers  are  against  us; 
and  the  church  in  England,  will  not  long  be  the 
church  of  England;  for  which  we  shall  all  deeply 
grieve,  and  Satan  will  triumph  gloriously;  but  it 
will  not  be  we  who  have  removed  our  tents,  or  ex- 
tinguished our  lamps  within  her. 

How  artful  those  people  are ! — among  the  host 
of  them,  there  is  not  a  more  dangerous  and  per- 
verted  or   perverting   one    than   .     Your 

"  Worldly  Religion"  is  a  true  painting,  and  will 
be  a  true  likeness  of  more  than  it  is  drawn  for. 
You  may  be  quite  at  ease  respecting  the  princi- 
ples, likely  to  be  derived   by  your  orphan  niece, 

at    Miss    E 's;    their    reputation    for    religion 

stands  high;  but  there  is  said  to  be  very  great 
deficiency  of  instruction  in  every  tiling  else,  which 
is  a  great  evil  for  one  who  may  have  to  maintain 
herself,  hereafter  as  you  say,  by  the  exercise  of  her 
mental  acquirements.  Would  it  be  any  satisfaction 
to  you,  that  I  should  see  her?  Accept  this  return 
of  little  for  your  much;  and  the  inclosed  from  my 
valued  pastor,  against  that  enormous  heresy  of  the 
Tractarians;  "No  regeneration  before  the  ascen- 
sion." Ever  most  truly  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 
22* 


258 


LETTERS. 

LIL— TO  LADY  ***** 

February  12,  1843. 


My  dear  Lady 


You  have  so  entirely  misunderstood  my  last,  I 
must  undeceive  you ;  not  only  for  the  ease  of  your 
own  mind,  but,  lest  you  should  impart  to  any  one 
else  the  thought  which  is  founded  wholly  on  mis- 
apprehension. I  almost  think  it  would  be  enough 
to  ask  you  to  read  my  letter  again :  but  I  may  have 
written  obscurely,  and  you  may  have  forgotten  to 
what  I  was  answering,  when  I  put  the  interroga- 
tory that  you  quote.  You  had  exhorted  to  union. 
I  saw  but  one  union  at  this  time  possible,  which 
was  to  be  deprecated :  I  asked  you  if  you  would 
consent  to  that,  not  asking  you  to  consent,  but  mean- 
ing to  express  my  certainty  that  you  would  not; 
and  when  I  added  that  /  could,  it,  &c,  it  was  an 
expression  of  painful  resignation  to  the  Divine  will 
in  that  which  I  anticipate.  From  what  part  of  my 
letter  you  could  draw  the  inference  that  it  is  God's 
people  who  are  banding  together  to  secede,  when  I 
meant  to  express  the  deep  and  anxious  fear  with 
which  all  the  evangelical  party  see  the  high-churcb 
party  banding  together  to  force  them  out,  I  cannot 
at  all  guess;  but  I  must  have  expressed  myself  ill 
indeed  for  you  so  to  understand  me.  I  do  not 
know  a  single  individual,  lay  or  clerical,  who 
wishes,  purposes,  or  even  thinks  of  leaving  the 
church;  but  I  know7  few  thinking  and  feeling  and 


LETTERS.  259 

informed  persons,  who  are  not  afraid  that  under 
the  growing  influence  of  Puseyism,  the  Establish- 
ment will  so  change  its  ground  as  to  leave  us  a 
separate  body.  That  this  does  not  occur  to  you  as 
a  possibility,  without  our  own  act,  may  arise  from 
your  not  knowing  what  is  doing,  or  is  likely  to  be 
done.  But  suppose  to  yourself,  the  bishop  of  Exe- 
ter refusing  ordination  to  every  man,  who  will  not 
subscribe  that  we  are  justified  by  baptism;  and 
suppose  him  next  to  suspend  all  the  curates,  and 
withdraw  all  licenses  within  his  power,  on  the 
same  ground — or  because  they  won't  bow  to  the 
altar — or  any  other  anti-scriptural  thing.  Such 
power  he  already  has,  and  to  an  extent  has  exer- 
cised. But  suppose  further,  that  the  Queen  grants 
what  they  want;  a  convocation  empowered  to  act 
in  church  matters,  and  make  changes  in  the  ritual, 
under  the  pretence  of  settling  disputes.  Immedi- 
ately the  majority  may  decide  for  doctrines  and 
practices,  which  no  righteous  minister  can  com- 
ply with ;  articles  which  he  cannot  subscribe, 
because  they  are  unscriptural:  forms  which  he 
cannot  use,  because  they  are  idolatrous.  What 
must  follow,  as  regards  the  ministry?  What 
would,  and  ought  to  follow  as  regards  their 
flocks?  This  is  the  view  I  meant  to  exhibit,  the 
only  one  I  or  my  friend  from  Oxford,  to  whose 
words  I  seem  to  have  done  great  injustice,  ever 
contemplated.  This  w7as  meant  by  Dr.  Arnold, 
whom  I  quoted  to  you;  by  Mr.  Blunt,  who  on  the 
verge  of  eternity  expressed   his  belief,  that  less 


260 


LETTERS. 


than  ten  years  will  accomplish  it  certainly — of 
some  who  think  that  ten  months  will  see  it  done — 
of  many  a  devout  heart,  I  feel  assured,  now  earn- 
estly praying,  that  when  the  trying  time  shall 
come,  he  may  stand  fast  in  the  Lord ;  though  it 
may  be  at  the  cost  of  all  he  holds  most  dear.  Now 
I  must  ask  of  your  justice  to  read  my  letter  again, 
and  see  if  it  will  not  fully,  and  in  every  part,  bear 
this  explanation  as  its  obvious  sense;  if  it  will  not, 
then  it  must  have  been  a  very  stupidly-compound- 
ed effusion. 

When  this  time  comes,  my  dear  Lady , 

it  is  not  the  little  band  who  will  rally  round  the 
Lord's  forsaken  ensign,  that  will  have  to  deter- 
mine who  is,  and  who  is  not  to  be  among  their 
number:  as  you  seem  to  think.  True,  we  may 
hope,  and  trust,  and  pray;  but  we  must  not  sleep 
upon  our  watch-tower  in  a  time  of  siege.  It  may 
please  God  you  will  not  live  to  see  it.  I  some- 
times hope,  and  if  I  might,  could  wish  that  I  may 
not, — who  am  a  little  younger — for  it  will  be 
fraught  with  grief  to  many  whom  I  love,  if  not 
much  affecting  myself  'personally.  We  both  may 
pray  for  delay,  even  if  we  are  hopeless  to  see  the 
ill  finally  averted ;  but  to  suppose  that  any  godly 
person  within  the  Establishment  can  wish  it,  pro- 
mote it,  purpose  it;  no,  really  I  could  not  have 
written  any  thing  that  could  bear  that  construc- 
tion. I  write  under  a  press  of  occupation,  and 
will  therefore  delay  answering  all  the  rest  of  your 


LETTERS.  261 

kind  propositions.    With  many  apologies  for  this 
haste. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 

P.  S. — My  picture  of  the  church  of  Christ  in 
England  now,  is  of  a  besieged  city,  (not  a  rout,) 
of  which  the  weakening  garrison,  after  a  brave 
defence,  will  be  ultimately  marched  out, — I  hope 
with  their  colours  flying. 


LIIL— TO  LADY  ***** 

March  25,  1843. 


My  dear  Lady 


If  you  are  ashamed  of  writing,  I  am  sure  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  not  writing  ;  after  all  your  kind 
communications.  I  offer  but  one  excuse,  because 
I  had  in  fact  but  one  reason  for  not  doing  so,  viz.,  the 
having  another  book  in  hand,  which  generally  im- 
pedes my  letter  writing.  If  there  is  any  difference 
in  our  view  of  the  sad  subject  of  our  correspond- 
ence, it  arises  wholly,  as  I  think,  from  the  differ- 
ent position  from  which  we  view  it.  You  take 
your  view  from  the  centre — you  see  the  picture 
in  detail — you  individualize  the  effects — you  have 
Puseyism  embodied,  as  it  were,  in  those  about 


262  LETTERS. 

you — I  may  almost  say,  within  you  :  even  at  your 
heart's  core.  Possibly  this  propinquity  may  vary 
the  bias  of  your  opinions,  about  as  much,  and  no 
more,  than  the  light  summer  breeze  gives  its  di- 
rection to  the  waving  corn.  I  draw  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  see  only  the  broad  outline,  the  larger 
features.  I  never  meet,  with  the  individuals,  ex- 
cept an  empty  youth,  or  foolish  young  girl  now 
and  then,  who  meeting  me  as  a  stranger  of  well- 
known  sentiments,  will  seldom  venture  a  talk  with 
me  by  broaching  their  opinions.  Consequently,  I 
know  less  than  you  of  the  interior  working  of  the 
system,  and  am  not  within  reach  of  personal  in- 
fluence. I  do  not  know  such  persons  as  you  speak 
of,  as  being  converted  to  seriousness  by  the  Ox- 
ford party  ;  I  think  every  such  case  must  stand 
upon  its  individual  merits.  If  the  dissipated  youth 
is  indeed  a  broken-hearted  penitent,  learning  to 
hate  the  sin  he  lately  loved,  and  to  renounce  it  for 
Jesus'  sake,  he  will  assuredly  not  rest  always  in 
Puseyism  ;  it  may  prove  to  have  been  the  school- 
master that  led  him  to  Christ.  But  if  the  change 
be  only  from  self-indulgence  to  self-righteousness, 
an  alarmed  conscience  taking  refuge  in  a  formal 
devotion,  the  convert  is  no  safer  than  he  was  be- 
fore. I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  not  in  a  more 
dangerous  position,  by  reason  of  his  false  security  ; 
he  is  like  one,  who  in  a  storm  of  wind,  should  be- 
take himself  for  shelter  to  a  baseless  roof.  It  ap- 
pears to  me,  that  these  cases,  be  they  many  or 
few,  are   so  very  individual,  and  so  impossible  to 


LETTERS. 


263 


discriminate,  that  they  need  not  in  the  least  degree 
affect  our  judgment  of  the  Tractarian  influence. 

I  think  things  wear  rather  a  different  aspect  in 
Ireland  than  in  England ;  our  pious  ministers 
might,  if  they  would,  read  the  cold  formulary  to 
the  empty  benches,  while  the  untaught  labourer 
perished  in  his  prayerlessness  and  ignorance;  but 
if  any  one  set  about  to  do  what  your  son  does,  he 
would  be  impeached  and  perhaps  suspended  for 
altering  the  service.  Our  dear  pastor  has  a  ser- 
vice for  communicants  on  the  Friday  before  the 
sacrament;  but  having  no  place  large  enough  to 
address  them  except  the  church,  he  dares  not  omit 
the  smallest  portion  of  the  service,  which  is  not 
the  object  at  all,  but  a  really  inconvenient  deten- 
tion ;  so  that  we  in  England  are  not  likely  to  mis- 
construe daily  service.  Such  a  one  as  yours,  with 
a  gospel  address  at  the  end  of  it,  would  be  a  bless- 
ing everywhere,  if  the  people  would  go ;  but  in 
England  they  would  not.  The  Puseyites  may  say 
vicarious  prayers  for  the  people,  if  they  please,  but 
nothing  will  take  the  English  poor  to  church 
bodily,  but  a  good  stirring  gospel  sermon.  I  say 
not  this  of  the  rich,  they  will  do  anything,  rather 
than  renounce  the  world,  and  its  affections,  and 
lusts;  as  required  by  the  gospel.  Truly  you  say, 
exterior  trifles  of  dress  &c,  do  not  signify  in  them- 
selves. Intrinsically  we  should  not  care  to  choose 
between  the  tri-color  and  the  drapeau-blanc ;  but 
when  they  were  the  insignia  of  legitimacy  and  of 
usurpation,  they  did  signify.     I  fear  it  is  so  now7 


254  LETTERS. 

between  the  black  gown  and  the  white:  and  we 
must  not  hoist  the  enemy's  colours  in  the  day  of 
battle,  or  follow  them.  This  is,  I  think,  the  whole 
extent  of  the  difference  in  our  views.  I  would 
rather  you  were  right,  for  then  the  case  is  not  so 
bad  as  I  think :  and  so  God  grant  it  may  be. 
Be  assured  you  never  wrote  one  word  that  gave 
me  anything  but  pleasure.     I  have  never  heard 

anything  whatever  as  to  Dr.  T ,  but  I  know 

a  quarter  in  which  I  am  likely  to  learn  when  oc- 
casion serves.  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the 
circular   you  speak   of  respecting  Puseyism  *  *  * 

Mr. ,  of  whom  I  think  you  ask  me  somewhere, 

though  I  cannot  find  the  passage,  has  a  district 
church   in  Greenwich,    and  is  the  Editor  of  the 

'  C R ,'  the  most  bitterly  anti-evangelical 

periodical,  and  he  is  the  strongest  Tractarian  in 
our  neighbourhood.  Personally,  I  do  not  know 
him,  for  we  are  understood  as  exclusive  here  ;  and 
it  is   one  advantage  of  authorship,    that  people 

know  both  Mr. 's  mind  and  mine  too  well  to 

ask  us  to  meet.  If,  in  speaking  to  this,  I  am 
answering  an  inquiry  made  by  somebody  else,  ex- 
cuse it,  as  a  confusion  in  my  mind.  I  have  not 
yet  received  your  book.  Again  begging  you  to 
believe  you  never  wrote  an  unsuccessful  letter, 
and  hoping  you  will  oblige  me  with  many  more, 

believe  me,  my  dear  Lady , 

With  esteem  and  affection,  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


265 


LIV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

April,  1843. 

My  Dear  Lady , 

I  have  become  so  much  accustomed  to  the  in- 
dulgence of  receiving  your  letters,  I  almost  take 
it  to  heart  when  they  cease  to  come,  though  I  feel 
the  fault  is  with  myself  on  most  occasions.  I  have 
to  thank  you  for  your  books,  duly  received ;  and 
really  valuable  in  my  opinion.  If  your  gentle  re- 
monstrances will  not  stay  the  torrent,  they  may 
rescue  many  a  pious  spiritfrom  its  headlong  course. 
I  will  tell  you  anything  I  hear  about  it;  but  shall 
be  much  surprised  that  any  thing  objectionable  can 
be  pointed  out.  Our  world  is  sadly  dividing  upon 
books,  as  well  as  every  thing  else;  so  that  Seeley 
says  there  are  just  two  sets  of  buyers,  one  for 
his  books,  &c,  and  the  other  for  Burns',  &c. 
Still  there  is  and  ever  must  be,  a  middle  class  of 
readers,  who  have  come  to  no  decision  ;  and  dip 
into  both  urns  with  their  eyes  shut,  for  the  chance 
of  whatthey  may  draw  up.  It  is  this  class  that  I  hope 
may  lay  their  hands  on  both  your  books,  and  be 
profited  thereby.  On  your  responsibility,  in  pub- 
lishing, I  am  sure  that  you  at  least  may  be  at  rest ; 
for  harm  they  can  never  do  to  any  one.  My  wri- 
ting  has  not  progressed  much  of  late,  owing  to  a 
very  little  indisposition,  and  a  good  deal  of  earthly 
care.  Meantime,  I  believe  we  only  desire  to  be 
23 


266 


LETTERS. 


directed  rightly,  in  what  we  do  ;  and  to  be  relieved, 
if  it  may  be,  from  anxiety  about  the  future ;  to 
which  end,  grant  us  your  prayers.  I  assure  you, 
I  more  welcome  than  resist  your  "  good  words, 
and  comfortable"  about  the  church.  The  May 
meetings,  though  I  go  not  to  them,  I  hear  have 
taken  a  very  satisfactory  tone  this  year ;  firm,  de- 
termined, zealous  and  affectionate; — what  passed 
in  the  House  is  also  thought  to  bear  a  favourable 
aspect.  It  is  said  that  the  strong  opposition  to  the 
Factory  Education  Bill,  has  warned  the  govern- 
ment of  increasing  distrust  of  the  Establishment, 
on  account  of  Tractarian  influences  in  it.  But 
perhaps  you  know  more  of  these  matters  than  I 
do.     If  you    meet   with    any  works  you   think  it 

would  do  good  to  review  for  the ,  will 

you  kindly  point  them  out  to  me  ? 

I  do  fully  concur  in  all  you  say,  respecting  the 
treatment  of  the  erring  in  personal  and  indivi- 
dual intercourse,  whenever  opportunity  occurs, 
though  I  deprecate  every  concession  made  to  the 
party  or  to  their  principles,  by  word  or  deed,  in 
general  conflict ;  and  on  the  open  field — in  the 
pulpit,  in  writing,  or  however  else.  Even  there 
we  may  earnestly  contend  for  the  truth,  without  as- 
sailing persons  or  parties  directly;  but  we  may  not 
modify  and  dress  it,  to  avoid  giving  them  a  wound, 
or  driving  them  away  still  farther  from  the  Gos- 
pel. So  I  think,  but  still  agree  with  all  you  have 
said,  upon  our  communications  with  the  misled, 


LETTERS. 


2G7 


and  the  misleading  individually.     Excuse  all  this, 
and  grant  me  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you. 
Most  truly  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

August  25,  1843. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  too  had  thought  the  hiatus  unusually  long, 
which  only  shows  how  much  you  have  humoured 
me  heretofore.  I  was  apprehensive  lest  it  might 
be  caused  by  increase  of  anxiety  for  your  precious 
grandson;  and  am  delighted  it  was  only  the  idle- 
ness, or  rather  relaxation, — for  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  first  word  ever  applies  to  you, — of  domes- 
tic pleasures.  I  perceive  that  I  agree  much  more 
with  you  about  the  Millennium  than  with  those 
from  whom  you  differ.  I  do  not  think  it  so  near 
as  many  do;  and  have  a  perfect  persuasion  of  its 
being  the  seventh  thousand  of  years:  but  then  our 
dates  are  not  sufficiently  certain,  to  rest  the  calcu- 
lation  upon.  I  wholly  agree  with  you  in  the  re- 
jection of  those  limited  views  of  the  Millennial 
kingdom:  of  which  indeed  I  was  not  aware.  I 
think  too,  assuredly,  that  all  present  things  will  be 
at  an  end;  churches,  ministrations,  &c,  all  that 
characterizes  the  dispensation  of  the  Spirit,  which 


268  LETTERS. 

will  itself  be  ended  ;  but  perhaps  I  anticipate  a 
sudden  termination,  at  the  coming  of  the  Son  of 
man;  you  a  gradual  overthrow  preparatory  there- 
to.    It  may  be  so.     I  profess  to  know  nothing. 

I  cannot  define  the  C 's  views  of  baptism, 

because  it  does  not  seem  to  me  they  can  do  it  them- 
selves, owing  perhaps  to  more  than  one  person 
having  treated  the  subject  therein  ;  and  it  is  indeed 
not  many  of  the  via  media  people  who  can  say 
what  they  mean.  Like  Armitage,  they  often  think 
to  rid  themselves  of  the  difficulty  by  inventing  a 
new  definition;  which  turns  out  to  be  only  a  new 
term,  that  really  defines  nothing.  As  I  hold  what 
are  called  extreme  views,  they  are  easily  enough 
explained;  though  it  may  be  thought  not  so  easily 
proved.  Calvin  never  cleared  his  language,  what- 
ever he  did  his  views,  of  scholastic  obscurity. 
Query :  When  he  says  infants  are  regenerated  in 
baptism,  does  he  mean  water  baptism,  or  baptism 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  may  not  accompany  the 
ceremony;  but  which  ceremony  without  it  is  no 
baptism  in  his  mind?  Or  when  he  says  regenera- 
tion, does  he  mean  being  born  again  of  the  Spirit 
unto  life  1  It  is  quite  certain  the  school-men  used 
the  word  in  a  very  different  sense  ?  These  ques- 
tions I  cannot  answer,  being  little  acquainted  with 
his  writings.  My  view  is  different  any  way ;  for 
I  believe  nobody  is  entitled  to  be  baptized  at  all, 
except  on  the  assumption  that  they  are  regenerate, 
of  which  the  required  faith  and  repentance  are  the 
evidences  received  on  profession  from  the  adult, — 


LETTERS.  269 

in  hope  and  charity  from  the  infant.  If  the  as- 
sumption be  a  false  one,  there  is  (in  Scripture  lan- 
guage) no  baptism,  but  an  empty  sign  of  a  non- 
existent thing,  the  invalid  half,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
— a  seal  set  upon  nothing.  If  I  am  right  in  sup- 
posing previous  regeneration  to  be  required  of  them 
that  come  to  be  baptized,  it  is  plainly  not  baptism 
that  confers  i.t.  You  will  perceive  I  thus  make 
water-baptism  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  recogni- 
tion of  a  fact,  and  not  the  doer  of  it.  If  ever  the 
Scripture  seems  to  speak  of  baptism  as  more,  I  be- 
lieve it  means  the  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
fire;  and  it  is  probable  many  of  our  older  writers 
meant  so  too.  As  to  the  language  of  our  church, 
I  give  it  up,  and  stand  upon  her  intentions,  to  be 
learned  by  weighing  together  the  whole  of  her  tes- 
timony. If  she  requires  faith  and  repentance  of 
them  that  come  to  be  baptized,  she  requires  the 
fruits  of  regeneration  ;  and  therefore  cannot  intend 
to  confer  that  of  which  she  requires  the  fruits  be- 
forehand. What  unregenerate  heart  ever  repented 
or  believed?  Of  the  other  sacrament,  I  take  just 
the  same  view ;  the  bread  and  wine  are  nothing, 
as  the  water  is  nothing,  but  the  emblems.  If  the  soul 
is  previously  united  to  Christ,  it  feeds  on  Him,  not 
them — if  it  be  not,  it  receives  nothing.  I  have  thus 
expressed  my  views  in  brief,  as  I  have  fully  in  my 
last  work,  "  Christ  our  Law."  It  accords  with 
those  of  Dean  Milner,  and  others  of  his  time,  who 
exhausted  the  controversy,  which  we  are  reviving 
so  painfully.  I  agree  with  you,  both  in  judgment 
23* 


270 


LETTERS. 


and  in  apprehension,  about  that  master-piece  of 
Satan — apostolical  succession;  may  I  not  rather 
write,  that  master  lie?  *  *  *  *  lam  glad 
to  hear  you  have  kept  something  of  a  journal,  it 
must  be  valuable.  There  is  one  thing  excites  my 
curiosity,  but  I  do  not  ask:  It  is, — I  cannot  think 
how  old  you  are. 

My  life  has  been  peculiar,  in  nothing  so  much 
so  as  my  conversion  ;  as  unsought  as  Saul's  of 
Tarsus,  and  far  more  resistant.  I  had  no  religion 
when  you  saw  me.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
you  refused  me.  I  can  remember  nothing  about 
our  interview,  but  my  disappointment:  and  I  was 
too  light-hearted  to  care  a  great  deal  about  that. 
I  think  I  wanted  to  go  to  Ireland.  Unhappily  I 
never  kept  a  diary,  or  a  memorandum  of  any  kind; 
unless  others  have  kept  letters,  there  can  be  no 
material  for  my  life  but  in  my  memory ;  but  seven- 
teen year's  almost  daily  correspondence  with  my 
precious  husband,  will  suffice  for  that  period. 
These  are  preserved,  but  cannot  be  used  in  his 
lifetime.  Up  to  that  period,  I  shall  put  down  from 
memory;  there  is  little  to  relate  since,  in  the  quiet 
tenour  of  domestic  happiness.  God  mercifully  veils 
the  future.  Don't  think  me  conceited,  but  God  must 
have  his  glory  in  my  salvation :  there  will  be  none 
t0  me — if  the  story  is  told  rightly — but  shame  from 
first  to  last.  Small  ground  for  exultation,  if  I  have 
had  ten  talents  and  paid  the  usury  for  only  five. 
You,  I  am  sure,  will  not  construe  this  expression 
into  a  boast,  nor  disbelieve  that  the  writing  of  it 


LETTERS.  271 

fills  my  eyes  with  tears.  I  know  my  mental  pow- 
ers to  have  exceeded  the  results :  and  if  I  write 
my  life,  instead  of  afFecting  to  underrate  them,  I 
will  say  so:  for  it  is  to  this  hour  my  heart's  grief, 
and  will  be  to  the  end,  my  grief  of  griefs.  It  is  so 
much  so,  so  abidingly  so,  that  any  allusion  to  my 
talents  goes  through  my  heart  like  a  sharp  sword: 
producing  an  almost  involuntary  cry  for  pardon. 
I  see  so  much  more  done,  even  now,  by  those  who 
have  less  mental  power  than  I  have,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  past.  This  is  a  terribly  long  gossip  :  but  a 
proposed  fit  of  idleness  at  the  sea-side  has  been  de- 
layed a  few  days,  and  so  left  a  vacuum.  I  think 
to  be  at  Dover,  but  not  more  than  three  weeks, 
from   Saturday  next.     Everywhere,   believe    me, 

dear  Lady , 

Your  affectionate  and  obliged, 

Caroline  Wilso.v. 


272  LETTERS. 


LVI.— TO  LADY  ***** 

November  1,  1843. 


My  dear  Lady 


It  is  a  too  long  time  again,  since  I  have  written 
to  you  ;  one  of  the  evils  of  which  is  like  that  of  put- 
ting aside  a  book,  one  forgets  where  one  left  off. 
But  yours  is  before  me,  and  I  must  first  say,  that 
it  really  comforts  me  to  find  you  are  not  older.  Per- 
haps you  will  not  thank  me,  for  this  sort  of  self- 
congratulation.  You  must  needs  be  very  weary, 
on  so  rough  a  road,  although  it  has  been  no  longer 
a  one;  but  the  double  generations  over  whom  your 
life  has  so  near  an  influence,  and  so  dear  an  inter- 
est, will  prevent  your  counting  impatiently  the 
other  ten ;  if  it  so  please  your  Father  you  are  to 
reach  the  natural  age  of  man.  Thank  you,  very, 
very  much  for  the  brief  recital  of  your  spiritual 
life.  It  is  deeply  interesting,  just  one  of  those  that 
for  God's  glory,  and  most  sovereign  love,  should 
be  remembered  and  recorded.  Whatever  may  be 
the  advantage, — and  there  is  much  of  early  reli- 
gious habits  and  impressions,  by  parentage  and 
education, — there  is  the  advantage  on  the  side  of 
adult  and  more  sudden  conversions,  that  they  give 
an  experimental  witness  to  the  doctrines  of  the 
gospel,  much  more  difficult  to  shake  than  opinions 
otherwise  imbibed.     The  "  I    know  that  I   have 


LETTERS-  273 

passed  from  death  to  life ;"  is  seldom  in  these  cases 
assailable  by  human  doubts  and  difficulties;  or  the 
mode  and  manner  of  the  purpose,  likely  to  become 
obscured,  by  the  confusion  of  human  disputation. 
Furthermore,  such  conversions  do  and  must  en- 
hance our  knowledge,  of  the  "  preciousness  of 
Christ," — "love  much  for  much  forgiven." 

I  am  pleased  again  to  find  how  little  we  differ. 
I  think  I  may  say,  not  at  all,  on  the  two  subjects 
alluded  to ;  Baptism  and  the  Second  Coming.  The 
reason,  I  suppose,  that  mine  are  called  extreme 
views,  or  that  I  at  least,  took  possession  of  the 
word  on  my  own  behalf,  is  that  among  the  persons 
called  evangelical,  (who  would  be  included  in  the 
Puseyite  term,  low  church,)  there  has  arisen  a  con- 
fused, higgledy-piggledy  notion  of  they  know  not 
what  efficacy  in  the  sacrament  as  such.  Some 
confine  it  to  the  children  of  believers,  some  ascribe 
it  to  the  faith  of  the  sponsors ;  the  most  part  mean 
nothing  at  all  by  it,  only  they  will  have  it  so  ;  and 
dispute  for  words,  against  those  who  give  a 
straight-forward  avowal  of  just  their  own  senti- 
ments in  plain  terms.  B 's  book  is  the  strong- 
hold of  these  confounders;  and  since  the  advance 
of  Puseyism,  all  the  moderados  have  betaken  them- 
selves to  this  confusion,  in  order  to  find  shelter 
from  the  thunders  of  the  church;  and  call  all  ex- 
treme who  will  not  be  puzzled  too.  So  being  of  no 
such  mind  myself,  for  playing  hide  and  seek,  I  took 
up  the  word  these  trimmers  throw  behind  them, 
without  very  much  care  on  whom  it  falls,  so  they 


274 


LETTERS. 


escape  the  opprobrium  of  "  low  church"  by  prov- 
ing an  alibi  for  themselves.  A  name  is  shorter 
than  an  argument,  and  often  does  as  well. 

Poor  S has  certainly  returned,  from  Rome, 

but  to  what?  That  is  hard  to  guess;  but  he  has 
expressed  his  conviction,  that  Rome  is  Babylon, 
and  her  worship  of  the  Virgin,  idolatry;  and  on 
that  confession  has  re-communicaled  with  us. 
More  I  know  not.  I  know  no  more  of  the  Chris- 
tian Union  Association  than  I  learn  from  the 
Record ;  I  think  its  tendency  surely  is  to  what  you 
desire :  a  willing  movement  toward  that  union 
perhaps,  which  God  alone  can  accomplish,  or 
which  I,  at  least,  can  anticipate  only  from  a  forci- 
ble separation  of  his  people  from  all  others.  I  still 
do  not  know,  as  I  did  not  when  you  named  it  here- 
tofore, any  such  movement  toward  separation  in 
the  church  as  you  have  heard  of,  nor  can  tell  in 
what  papers  you  have  seen  the  apparent  effort 
making.  Every  English  churchman  with  whom  I 
have  spoken,  without  one  exception,  regrets  the 
separation  in  Scotland,  and  considers  it  a  mistake. 
True,  our  hearts  are  with  them,  for  they  are  the 
brethren  in  Christ,  suffering  for  conscience'  sake, 
as  they  believe ;  but  our  judgment  is  against  them, 
universally,  as  I  believe.  That  many  expect  a 
similar  separation  among  ourselves,  is  another 
thing ;  expectation  is  not  intention.  Noah  expect- 
ed the  waters,  and  prepared;  he  neither  wrought 
for  them,  nor  invoked  them.  Surely  it  must  be 
from  the  church's  enemies  you  hear  of  these  inten- 


LETTERS.  275 


tions ;  I  mean  from  Dissenters  or  Puseyites.  The 
only  other  quarter  I  can  think  of,  is  that  of  the 
Plymouth  Brethren;  but  that  is  too  inconsiderable 
and  unstable  a  party  to  be  worth  the  name  of  se- 
cession,— true  godly  souls  as  I  believe  they  most- 
ly are. 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  no  worse  a  report  of  your 
little  grandson,  and  trust  the  precious  loan  may' be 
prolonged. 

I  hope  I  shall  soon  hear  from  you  again.  I  wish 
among  other  things,  to  know  if  you  are  safe.  You 
will  be  sure  I  feel  writh  you  respecting  your  two 
sons'  opposing  notoriety  in  the  conflict,  and  read 
with  peculiar  interest  every  mention  of  their 
names :  not  without  apprehension  that  it  may  at 
this  moment  be  adding  to  your  many  cares. 
Believe  me  with 

True  affection,  yours, 
Caroline  Wilson. 


276 


LETTERS. 

LVII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

January  8,  1844. 


My  dear  Lady 


If  any  thing  can  heighten  the  interest  of  your 
letters  to  me,  it  is  their  containing  matters  so 
deeply  interesting  to  yourself,  as  the  subjects  of 
your  last.  Being  a  great  newspaper  reader,  and 
having  you  always  in  mind,  I  remark  your  son's 
progress  with  painful  attention,  and  look  out  for 

his  name,  as  if  it  belonged  to  me.     Mr.  M ,  in 

his  sermon  yesterday  on  Abraham's  trial,  said 
many  things  that  might  have  comforted  you  ;  but 
I  am  bad  at  repeating,  having  no  verbal  memory: 
the  main  purport  was,  that  the  blessings  attached 
to  affliction  are  not  direct,  else  they  would  be  most 
blest  in  hell :  but  the  use  of  trial  is,  to  put  the  mind 
in  a  fit  state  to  receive  a  blessing — a  state  of  hu- 
mility, submission,  and  confidence.  This  is  better 
effected  by  not  seeing  the  purpose  of  God  in  it, 
which  is  comparatively  a  small  exercise  of  faith. 
Abraham  could  have  no  idea  why  he  was  to  slay 
his  only  child,  nor  may  another  father,  whose  only 
child  is  slain  or  taken  from  him  ;  thence  came  the 
simple  and  pure  faith,  which  fitted  Abraham  to  re- 
ceive the  greatest  blessing  God  himself  could  con- 
fer, but  only  such  faith  made  him  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing. Are  you  not  in  Abraham's  case,  with  respect 
to  your  son,  and  perhaps  your  grandchild  too? 


LETl'EKS. 


277 


1  feci  some  confidence  that  we  should  agree 
about  particular  and  general  redemption,  if  we 
could  first  define  our  terms.  I  don't  know  Lu- 
ther's letter,  or  forget  it ;  there  is  in  some  Calvinis- 
tic  w7riters  a  hard,  cold  mode  of  setting  forth  these 
most  precious  doctrines,  which  is  anything  but  like 
the  way  in  which  the  Scripture  gives  them,  and 
God  intends  them.  "  If  Christ  did  not  in  any  sense 
die  for  all  mankind,  why,  I  ask,  is  there  a  human 
soul  at  this  moment  out  of  hell?"  said  our  preacher 
the  other  day.  If  Christ,  in  dying,  redeemed  all 
mankind,  why  is  there  a  human  soul  in  hell  1  The 
two  questions  will  fence  both  sides,  and  swai?ip  hu- 
man reason,  if  you  please,  between  them,  for  there 
is  no  way  out.  To  the  believer,  there  is  no  experi- 
mental difficulty,  but  most  abundant  blessedness  in 
the  mystery  of  the  divine  purpose;  but  it  is  as  you 
truly  say,  an  incommunicable  certainty.  Old  Wil- 
liam Howells  wTas  used  to  say,  "Never  mind  these 
doctrines  now;  wait  till  you  cannot  do  without 
them.  Whenever  you  fully  know  the  iniquity  of 
your  own  heart,  you  will  find  you  cannot  be  saved 
without  election."  I  confess  myself  very  grateful, 
however,  for  having  had  this  point  settled  for  me 
experimentally  at  the  beginning,  by  the  manner  of 
my  conversion,  and  so  I  think  had  you. 

I  wish  I  had  written  sooner,  as  I  am  rather 
anxious  to  hear  from  you  again  about  yourself. 
That  I  did  not,  as  I  wish  I  had  done,  was  occa- 
sioned by  mere  press  of  writing,  in  getting  a  book 

to  press,  and   reviewing  for  the  .     If  you 

24 


278 


LETTEKS. 


meet  with  it,  my  articles  are  on  Dr.  C *s  Insan- 
ity, &c,  Charlotte  Elizabeth's  Wrongs  of  Women, 
and  a  book,  which  I  believe  must  be  written  by  an 
Irishman — a  Roman  Catholic  undisguisedly — per- 
haps you  know  1  "  Rome,  Pagan  and  Papal."  It 
is  laughably  mischievous,  or  mischievously  laugh- 
able.    I  wonder  if  you  ever  got  your  IMS.  from 

C E ,  which  was  the  happy  first  occasion 

of  my  hearing  from  you.  Her  odd  marriage  turns 
out  very  well,  I  believe  really  happily;  but  she  is 
going  quite  beside  herself  about  the  Jews:  her  last 
publication  is  painful  to  think  of,  as  coming  from 
so  useful  and  respected  a  pen. 

I  suppose  I  am  safe  in  using  your  last  address. 
How  does  your  book  succeed?     Believe  me,  dear 

Lady , 

With  great  esteem,  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LVIII.— TO  LADY  *****. 

February  14,  1844 


My  dear  Lady 


My  gratitude  must  weigh  against  my  ill-deserv- 
ing, for  your  long  and  acceptable  letter.  A  new 
book  in  hand,  and  a  too  cold  house,  which  dulls 
down  my  faculties  most  miserably,  have  made  me 
to  be  so  great  a  defaulter  of  late.     The  thought  of 


LETTERS. 


279 


your  having  been  ill,  stimulates  my  self-reproach, 
which  can  only  be  appeased  by  writing  immedi- 
ately. Upon  the  subject-matter  on  which  your 
mind  is  so  ill  at  ease,  I  will  only  now  tell  you  what 
I  think  myself;  perhaps  of  some  better  authorities, 
as  I  meet  with  them,  hereafter.  I  have  not  seen 
the  book  you  speak  of,  but  it  is  not  a  new  thought 
to  my  mind,  nor  a  new  subject  of  discussion  in  my 

circle.     Mr. would,  I  think,  agree  with  what 

I  am  about  to  say  exactly:  and  so  would  my  here- 
tofore pope,  William  Howells,  who  cleared  my 
brain  on  that  and  many  other  points.  Now  what 
/  think, — for  I  speak  of  myself,  and  for  myself 
alone, — is,  that  Christ  died  for  the  whole  of  hu- 
manity, to  the  extent  of  removing  from  every  one 
the  guilt  and  punishment  of  imputed,  original,  or 
birth-sin,  as  it  is  variously  called;  so  that  nothing 
but  actual  sin  will  be  brought  into  judgment 
against  any  one.  Now  if  this  be  so,  no  child  who 
dies  before  the  age  of  responsibility,  can  perish ; 
from  imputed  sin  it  is  freed  by  the  death  of  Christ; 
of  actual  sin  it  has  not  been  capable.  Into  con- 
demnation therefore  it  cannot  come:  to  hell  it  can- 
not go.  Now  there  is  only  one  alternative;  it 
must  go  to  heaven — to  glory.  But  while  the  re- 
mission of  the  original  penalty  of  sin  is  thus  made 
sure  to  the  entire  justification  of  the  guiltless  babe, 
by  the  work  of  the  Son.  on  behalf  of  all  mankind  ; 
the  principle  of  sin  derived  from  Adam  remains, 
unless  the  Spirit  also  does  His  work;  the  fallen  na- 
ture cannot  go  to  heaven;  the  babe  must  be  sane- 


2S0 


LETTERS. 


tificd  as  well  as  justified;  it  must  be  born  again. 
We  assume,  therefore,  that  those  who  die  in  infan- 
cy, are  as  necessarily  regenerated  by  the  Spirit, 
as  they  are  justified  in  Christ.  If  you  say  this  is 
inference  only,  and  not  proved,  I  think  the  latter 
position  can  be  proved  from  Scripture,  and  that 
the  former  is  a  certain  conclusion  from  it.  It  will 
be  at  once  apparent,  that  if  this  is  the  process  of 
infant  salvation,  there  can  be  no  difference  be- 
tween one  child  and  another;  an  unconscious  babe 
can  neither  lose  nor  acquire  capability  of  sin  by 
surrounding  light  or  darkness.  When  the  Bible 
tells  me  that  Christ's  blood  was  shed  for  the  sins 
of  Christendom,  I  will  believe  the  remission  of 
Adam's  sin  so  limited  ;  but  while  it  is  written,  "the 
sins  of  the  whole  world,"  I  can  draw  no  lines  of 
demarcation.  As  to  supposing  that  a  child  is  saved 
by  Christian  parentage,  or  Christian  baptism,  it  is 
to  me  the  purest  fiction  that  human  fancy  ever  in- 
vented :  and  something  worse  ;  for  it  is  of  the  very 
essence  of  antichrist,  making  another  Saviour,  an 
earthly  depositary  for  the  benefit  of  the  death  of 
Christ ;  another  "pair  of  keys,"  to  lock  and  unlock, 
to  kill  and  to  make  alive,  which  I  would  as  soon 
trust  to  the  "  holy  father"  of  Rome,  as  to  the  "holy 
mother"  of  England,  or  any  ordinance  or  parent- 
age therein.  I  find  no  such  thing  in  Scripture; 
1  Cor.  vii.  14,  having,  to  my  mind,  no  relation  to 
1  he  salvation  of  a  child.  As  to  that  Protean  per- 
sonage called  "The  Church,"  when  she  can  be 
produced,  we  may  come   to  some   better  under- 


LETTERS. 


281 


standing  of  her  mind:  at  present  her  sons  are  all 
at  variance,  unable  to  decide  on  what  she  says : 
still  less  what  she  means;  and  should  these  be 
brought  to  agreement  from  Exeter  to  Chester,  or 
the  Shetlands,  the  all-important  question  would  re- 
main; If  she  be  right,  or  wrong?  I  do  not  think, 
however,  that  the  view  we  speak  of  is  impugned 
by  the  expressions  you  quote  ;  we  all  suppose  them 
to  be,  by  nature,  the  children  of  wrath;  the  ques- 
tion is,  whether  that  nature  has  been  changed  by 
grace.  In  respect  of  burial,  I  hope  "our  mother" 
knows  it  has  as  little  to  do  with  salvation  as  bap- 
tism has;  the  one  is  the  door  of  admission,  the 
other  of  egress,  to  the  professing  church:  there 
is  abundant  profession  without  faith,  there  can 
scarcely  be  faith  without  profession  ;  and  such  can- 
not be  accepted  of  the  church  unless  it  be  made; 
how  then  can  she  bury  an  unbaptized  adult'?  But 
nothing  of  this  applies  to  infants;  and  for  once  only 
I  can  agree  with  Henry  of  Exeter,  that  it  is  very 
odd  that  people,  who  do  not  care  to  be  baptized 
into  the  church,  should  wish  to  be  buried  from  out 
of  it.  I  have  not  quoted  from  Scripture,  because 
your  own  two  passages,  1  Cor.  xv.  22;  and  Rom. 
v.  18,  are  the  strongest  I  can  recal  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  my  view,  though  assuredly  not  alone. 
All  this  is  struck  off  in  haste,  because  I  would  not 
delay  to  acknowledge  yours,  and  inquire,  not  un- 
anxiously,  about  your  health,  ^ndthis  was  the  first 
subject  of  your  letter,  thoug  i  there  are  many  more 
that  should  be  answered;  whereas  there  is  no  point 
24* 


282 


LETTERS. 


on  which  my  mind  is  more  thoroughly  made  up 
and  made  clear,  to  my  own  apprehension. 

More  I  cannot  write  now  ;  but  soon  again.  I 
feel  much  for  your  family  griefs  and  apprehen- 
sions. May  they  be  blessed,  or  averted ;  and  why 
not  both  1  It  has  been  to  invalids  dangerous 
weather,  I  apprehend.  May  you  at  least  be  spar- 
ed to  the  many  who  cannot  spare  you.  Indeed  I 
shall  not  fail  to  be  delighted  with  the  shawl  you  so 
kindly  propose  to  send;  but  why  so  kind  to  the  un- 
worthy 'i 

Farewell — God  and  good  angels  guard  you,  in 
sickness  or  in  health.     Ever  believe  me, 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 

P.  S.  Your  last  book  is  going  to  rebuke  Tracta- 
rianism  in  Petersburg. 


L1X.— TO  LADY  ***** 

March  8,  1844. 


My  dear  Lady 


The  book  is  finished,  and  the  review  gone  to 
press,  and  I  must  give  myself  a  holiday  to  write 
to  you,  or  I  shall  never  tell  you  what  you  wish. 
Your  last  kind  letter  made  me  sorry,  as  it  implied 
that  I  must  have  expressed  myself,  otherwise  than 


LETTERS. 


283 


I  meant ;  since  it  produced  regret  on  your  part, 
for  what  you  had  written.  I  certainly  did  not 
think  there  was  the  least  objection  to  the  discuss- 
ing of  the  subject  between  us,  or  any  others  of 
like  mind,  sedate  and  reasonable;  but  I  did  think 

M rash  to  put  the  thought  in  print,  for  the 

weak-minded  and  apprehensive.  Whatever  I  said, 
this  was  what  I  meant.  The  "  legitimate  bound- 
ary" I  spoke  of,  was  nut  of  "  inquiry"  into  God's 
ways  ;  but  that  while  we  may  say  God  permits  evil 
and  sin  for  his  own  good  purposes,  we  may  never 
say  or  suppose  he  can  for  any  purpose,  be  the 
occasion  of  it.  I  fear  that  remark  led  you  to  sup- 
pose, that  I  thought  the  discussion  of  the  subject 
unwise;  which  I  did  not.  Having  set  this  matter 
right,  I  scarcely  need  say  next,  how  much  I  should 
like  to  see  you ;  and  yet  I  have  felt  just  as  you  do 
— the  disappointment  that  always  comes  of  a 
drawing-room  interview — where  people  have  pre- 
viously expected  much.  In  my  own  case,  it  is 
sure  to  come  ;  by  my  natural  and  total  want  of 
tact  and  self-possession,  which  makes  nothing  of 
me  at  all  times,  except  after  long  intimacy.  In- 
deed, my  want  of  confidence  in  conversation,  even 
with  the  simplest  and  the  meanest,  limits  my  use- 
fulness almost  wholly  to  my  pen,  and  is  at  times  a 
great  grief  to  me;  especially  since  reputation  has 
given  a  weight  to  my  counsels,  which  might  make 
my  words  useful,  if  I  could  only  get  them  out. 
The  fact  is,  I  am  in  every  sense  of  the  word  timid. 
All  this  does  not  mean  that  T  will  not  see  vou,  if 


284  LETTERS. 

you  will  allow  me ;  in  any  manner  that   may  be 
most  agreeable  to  you. 

I  want  to  tell  you  what  you  ask  about  myself; 
but  how  shall  I  convey  a  just  impression  of  what 
I  was  when  mercy  found  me,  in  few  enough  words 
for  a  letter  !  For  years  I  had  never  bent  my  knee 
in  prayer,  or  any  way  recognized  the  existence  of 
a  God.  I  hated,  and  knew  I  hated — which  is  not 
commonly  the  case — the  very  name  of  God.  Mine 
was  an  understanding  enmity.  I  knew  not  only 
what  is  in  the  written  word,  but  even  the  shades 
and  colourings  of  opinion,  in  the  construction  of 
it.  I  had  heard  the  Gospel  and  read  controversy, 
as  I  read  every  thing  else;  and  had  even  made  up 
my  mind,  that  if  there  were  any  thing  in  it  at  all, 
the  Calvinists  were  right.  But  I  believed  it  was 
all  fiction  together,  and  beneath  an  intellectual 
being,  to  be  troubled  about  at  all.  Happily,  I  was 
always  modest,  and  therefore  I  never  gave  utter- 
ance to  my  opinions.  I  believe  even  my  brothers 
and  sisters  had  no  idea  of  more  than  absolute  in- 
difference to  religion.  It  was  far  more — indiffer- 
ence has  no  existence  in  my  nature — it  was  hatred. 
My  brother,  though  he  knew  nothing  of  this,  said 
of  me  that  I  was  the  most  hopeless  of  his  family. 
"There  is  the  pride  of  intellect,  that  will  never 
come  down,"  was  his  expression.  I  delighted  to 
hear  the  name  of  God  and  the  truth  of  God  made 
a  jest  of;  but  as  to  disliking  the  people  of  God,  or 
saying  anything  to  pain  them,  I  should  as  soon 
have  thought  of  hating  a  man  for  believing  or  dis- 


LETTERS. 


285 


believing  the  Copernican  system.  You  must  guess 
the  rest,  or  I  shall  never  end  ;  at  the  time  of  con- 
version, I  was  in  a  clergyman's  family  in  Lincoln- 
shire,— of  the  true  old-fashioned  high-church,  in  its 
coldest,  stupidest,  most  inoffensive  character.  Mrs. 
Trimmer  was  their  whole  gospel.  The  necessity 
of  going  to  church,  the  necessity  of  hearing  the 
Bible  read  by  my  pupils,  was  to  me  a  painful  and 
degrading  task;  which  could  not  but  betray  itself, 
though  words  they  heard  not  from  me  about  the 
matter.  I  held  them,  I  fear  I  treated  them,  who 
only  admired  and  petted  me,  in  sovereign  con- 
tempt. Without  a  shade  of  real  religion  them- 
selves, they  were  of  course  shocked  at  my  manifest 
disregard,  of  what  they  called  so  :  but  they  never 
spoke  to  me  upon  it. 

At  this  time,  I  violently  attached  myself  to  a 
lovely  young  woman  of  my  own  age,  daughter  of 
a  neighbouring  clergyman.  After  my  manner,  I 
wrapped  myself  up  in  this  one  satisfaction — my 
idol  for  the  time  beins%  I  invested  her  with  all 
the  excellences  she  had  or  had  not ;  no  matter 
what  she  really  was,  (about  which  I  have  no  clear 
opinion:)  quite  certain  it  is' that  she  had  no  know- 
ledge of  true  religion  at  all,  and  never  pretended 
to  have,  and  despised  the  Gospel  of  Christ  to  the 
full  as  much  as  I  did.  But  she  had  a  religion — 
a  sentimental  desire  for  a  better  world,  such  as 
comes  simply  of  disappointment  in  this.  My  in- 
ferior mentally,  she  surpassed  me  in  the  very 
thing  I  prided   myself  upon  ; — philosophy — in  the 


286 


LETTERS. 


conduct  of  ordinary  life,  to  be  above  circum- 
stances, misfortunes,  disappointments,  and  all  man- 
ner of  "  this  world's  wrongs,"  which  we  used  to 
set  ourselves  to  abuse,  while  we  read  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,  to  avenge  ourselves.  In  short, 
she  always  behaved  well  and  acted  properly,  and 
spake  wisely;  while  I,  with  all  my  knowledge  and 
philosophy,  was  "  a  wild  ass's  colt :"  with  a  mind 
beyond  my  own  control,  or  that  of  any  body  else, 
and  too  artless  to  wear  the  guise  of  any  thing  I 
was  not.  I  saw  her  advantage,  and  spoke  often 
to  her  of  it,  lamenting  my  own  want  of  self-con- 
trol and  submission  to  circumstances.  This 
finally  occasioned  her,  not  having  courage  to 
speak  to  me  of  my  want  of  religion,  to  write  me  a 
a  letter,  remonstrating  with  me  upon  it,  and  assur- 
ing me  it  was  religion  alone  that  gave  her  that 
advantage  over  me,  which  I  so  much  admired 
and  coveted.  Now  I  can  fully  say  that  in  this 
letter  was  no  mention  of  Christ — no  reference  to 
the  Spirit — no  one  word  of  the  gospel  method  of 
salvation,  or  anything  that  might  not  have  been 
said  by  a  Socinian  or  a  Deist;  any  one  who  be- 
lieved in  an  over-ruling  God,  or  a  future  state  of 
happiness  or  misery. 

On  first  reading  it,  my  indignation  knew  no 
bounds  :  It  was  an  insult  upon  my  understanding 
— a  presumption  upon  my  friendship;  I  sat  down 
and  answered  in  all  the  bitterness  of  wounded 
pride,  and  unrestrained  contempt.  It  happened 
the  letter  could  not  <zo  that  day,  it  was  some  miles 


LETTERS.  287 

off  and  nobody  could  take  it.  The  next  day — O 
what  a  day  was  that — I  must  not  make  remarks, 
but  merely  state  facts.  I  felt  that  I  was  moved, 
shaken.  What  shame,  what  degradation;  I,  even 
/moved  by  such  things  as  these!  impossible.  I 
could  have  buried  my  head  in  the  earth  for  shame 
and  humiliation.  The  only  comfort  was,  nobody 
could  ever  know  it.  But  this  changed  my  purpose  ; 
— if  I  was  to  seem  unmoved,  why  should  I  be 
angry  I  I  burned  the  letter  and  wrote  another, 
very  kind,  very  dignified,  very  philosophical  and 
high-minded,  but  quite  indifferent,  of  course.  It 
happened  again  the  letter  could  not  go,  but  my 
conflict  was  now  with  God ;  I  loathed,  I  scorned, 
I  refused,  I  told  the  blessed  Redeemer,  who  by  his 
Spirit  was  contending  for  me,  that  I  would  not 
yield — I  icould  not  have  him — I  would  not  be  his. 
Words  are  not  adapted  to  describe  things  like 
these,  that  pass  between  spirit  and  spirit  without 
voice  or  word ;  and  yet  are  more  real  than  words 
could  make  them.  I  hated  my  friend  for  telling 
me;  I  hated  myself  for  caring  about  what  she 
said  :  but  Oh  !  I  hated  most  the  blessed  One  who 
was  thus  trying  to  force  upon  me  the  degradation 
of  his  name.  It  wras  soon  over;  on  the  third  day 
I  wrote  another  letter  ;  I  owned  the  precious  truth 
of  what  she  had  reproached  me  with  ;  avowed  my 
altered  purpose,  and  acknowledged  my  obligation 
to  her.  Beyond  that,  I  said  nothing  to  any  body 
at  the  time — they  would  have  only  mocked  and 
and  wo-ndered  and  taken   me  for   mad,  and   my 


288  LETTERS. 

friend  would  have  been  foremost  in  that  opinion. 
All  that  they  saw  was,  that  I  had  become  religious 
— that  is,  I  read  the  Bible. 

I  became  ill,  and  was  almost  immediately  re- 
moved. But  from  that  third  day,  all  was  changed 
to  me  ;  I  read,  I  praised,  I  prayed,  I  rejoiced  with 
joy  unspeakable.  I  had  nothing  to  learn  as  to  the 
nature  and  manner  and  meaning  of  the  change. 
I  knew  all  that  before,  as  a  fiction ;  it  was  now  an 
experimental  truth.  From  that  time  Jesus  was 
mine,  and  I  was  his;  but  Oh  !  what  a  soil  it  was 
for  the  seed  to  grow  in !  what  a  time  before  it 
could  be  wrought  upon  to  profit;  all  to  do,  all  to 
undo,  and  everything  in  the  natural  character 
against  the  work.  However,  you  know  the  issue; 
it  was  hard  work  He  undertook  at  first,  and  has 
been  hard  to  the  last.  I  have  defeated  Him,  dis- 
honoured Him,  denied  Him,  practically,  never  pro- 
fessedly, a  thousand,  thousand  times;  but  from 
that  hour  to  this,  I  have  never  doubted  Him.  How 
could  I?  Had  Paul  himself  more  evidence  than 
I  had?  No,  for  he  had  never  been  what  I  was, 
and  he  made  no  resistance.  The  recital  is  long, 
my  time  is  gone;  I  leave  you  to  make  the  com- 
ment on  the  bare  text;  but  it  may  interest  you  to 
know,  that  my  friend  subsequently  married  a  dig- 
nitary of  the  church,  of  high  birth  and  indifferent 
character;  forgot  in  her  change  of  fortune,  her 
preference  of  another  world  ;  affected  fashionable 
life,  derided  all  I  said  to  her  and  wrote  to  her 
about  the  change,  of  which  she   had   been  the  in- 


LETTERS.  289 

strument;  till,  as  my  religious  profession  grew, 
being  really  unacceptable  to  herself,  and  offensive 
to  her  worldly  irreligious  husband,  our  acquaint- 
ance was  broken  off;  and  I  know  only  by  com- 
mon report,  that  she  died  last  year  suddenly 
while  dressing  for  a  ball.  Thus  God  has  secured 
the  whole  glory  to  himself,  there  was  none  to  the 
creature  on  any  side.  But  I  must  break  off  here, 
and  if  I  have  omitted  anything  in  your  letter,  that 
should  be  noticed,  it  shall  be  so  hereafter : — The 
subject  always  overwhelms  me; — meantime,  be- 
lieve me, 

Very  sincerely  and  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LX.— TO  LADY  *  *  *  *  * 

April,  1844. 


My  dear  Lady 


I  delayed  answering  your  last  kind  note,  to  find 
if  any  one  here  knew  Mr. well  enough  to  de- 
sire him  to  call  on  you,  which  of  course  he  would 
be  well-pleased  to  do,  if  he  knew  you  wished  it.  I 
do  not  know  him,  nor  have  I  yet  found  any  one 
who  does.  By  report,  I  suppose  he  is  the  most 
evangelical  in  your  part;  whether  up  to  our  mark 
of  divine  orthodoxy,  I  am  not  sure,  I  never  heard 


290 


LETTERS. 


him.  I  believe  he  was  a  convert  from  Rome  ori- 
ginally, and  is  certainly  of  good  repute. 

As  to  Mr.  B ,  I  like  none  of  all  the  things 

you  speak  of.  "There  is  a  way,  that  seemeth 
good  unto  a  man,"  &c.  We  might  say,  it  cannot 
be  a  bad  way  that  gets  a  worldling  out  of  bed, 
takes  him  to  church,  brings  him  within  hearing, 
&c. ;  but  is  it  so?  Has  not  this  been  the  way  of 
Antichrist,  from  the  beginning?  Does  not  Satan 
know,  that  he  has  a  stronger  hold  through  the  se- 
curity of  a  false  religion,  than  in  the  felt  risk  of  no 
religion.  Is  not  experience  against  our  conclu- 
sions in  this  matter.     I  like  your  "  words"  from 

Abp.  W on  the  unedifying  use  of  Scripture. 

However,  if  I  liked  to  go  to  church  at  eight 
o'clock,  which  I  do  not,  I  should  abstain  from  it 
now,  as  I  should  from  wearing  a  certain  coloured 
ribbon   at  an   election-time,  which   might,   please 

my  fancy  at  any  other  period  harmlessly.     B 

is  very  notorious,  and  has  made  efforts  to  go 
farther,  but  was  checked,  either  by  the  bishop  or 
the  people,  as  is  stated  variously.  The  eleven 
o'clock  service,  is  a  choice  good  luck,  to  the  fair 
faneantes  of  the  West  End ;  to  ease  them  of  a 
morning  or  two  per  week. 

I  am  half  tempted  to  ask,  if  I  may  send  my  hus- 
band to  call  on  you  some  day.  You  would  like 
him  better  than  me; — everybody  does;  and  they 
are  right.  But  do  not  say  Yes,  if  you  had  rather 
not  be  disturbed  by  strangers.  I  shall  go  on 
hoping  to  see  you  in  some  way.     We  are  going, 


LETTERS. 


291 


as  I  expect,  to  Tunbridge  Wells  on  Monday  next, 
for  ten  days  at  the  utmost. 

My  new  book  is  not  christened.  If  you  ever 
drive  to  Seeley's,  ask  him  about  it;  for  I  cannot 
get  him  on  with  it.  It  is  but  a  trifling  concern, 
which  seems  to  suit  the  age.  "  Too  grave,"  "  too 
deep,"  "  too  good  ;"  is  the  bookseller's  language 
now.  So  much  for  Gresley,  Paget  and  Co.  The 
gravest  pens  must  betake  themselves  to  lightness. 
My  book  is  intended  for  the  reading  of  idle  people, 
on  a  Sunday  afternoon  ;  but  I  hope  there  are  truths 

in  it.     Dear  Lady  

Very  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXL— TO  LADY  ***** 

May  27,  1844. 


My  Dear  Lady 


I  inclose  you  C.  E.'s  answer.  I  just  tore  off* 
the  part  of  your  letter  that  concerned  her,  and 
transmitted  it  without  note  or  comment,  on  the 
subject-matter  of  it.  You  certainly  have  awaken- 
ed my  curiosity  too,  about  Mr.  Close,  and  will  tell 
me,  if  you  satisfy  your  own.  I  will  ask  Seeley 
about  your  friend's  book,  &c. ;  as  to  reviewing,  I 
did  ask,  and  am  always  obliged  for  a  hint  to  this 
issue.     Writing  is  as  necessary  to  my  brain,  as  to 


292  LETTERS. 

my  purse:  and  the  greatest  part  of  the  difficulty  is 
always  to  find  the  subject.  I  am  very  glad  of 
your  report  of  Mr.  Burgess ;  I  never  knew  before, 
on  sufficient  authority,  on  what  ground  his  good 
reputation  stood,  although  I  knew  he  had  it.  Still 
I  wish  he  did  not  keep  saints'  days.  I  appreciate 
all  the  bon  hommie,  as  well  as  Christian  love,  of 
your  method  of  conformity ;  letting  every  body  do 
as  they  like  in  things  that  do  not  signify;  and 
would  indeed  that  that  were  so,  though  I  appre- 
hend it  is  hardly  compatible  with  the  idea  of  an 
establishment,  even  in  externals;  however  that  be, 
it  does  not  seem  to  me  applicable  to  the  case  in 
question.  Things  unimportant  in  themselves,  be- 
come important  when  they  become  significant  of 
other  things.  When  the  wars  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster deluged  our  land  with  blood,  through  great 
part  of  two  centuries,  no  man,  I  apprehend,  sup- 
posed it  was  the  colour  of  roses  about  which  they 
were  contending;  but  I  am  afraid  the  peace-maker 
who  should  have  adopted  your  plan,  by  wearing 
the  red  rose  one  day,  and  the  white  next,  to  mark 
his  indifference  to  the  colour  of  a  flower,  would 
have  received  a  Lancastrian  shaft  through  one 
lobe  of  his  brain,  and  some  Yorkist  bullets  into 
another ;  and  verily,  if  our  clergy  will  be  doing  the 
same  thing,  the  fault  is  their  own  if  they  be  mis- 
trusted on  both  sides ;  and  have  their  best  inten- 
tions misinterpreted.  Blood  has  flowed,  the  blood 
of  the  holiest  and  the  wisest,  has  flowed  abundant- 
ly and  widely,  about  the  worship  of  saints  and  the 


LETTERS.  293 

value  of  ordinances.  We  cannot  plead  ignorance 
of  Satan's  design  in  all  this  movement;  we  might 
know,  we  do  know,  that  war  has  been  proclaimed 
within  our  Protestant  Establishment,  against  the 
Protestant  faith.  It  is  not  we  who  are  on  the  ag- 
gressive: we  made  no  attack  upon  the  taste  of 
others  for  white  and  black;  Wednesday  or  Thurs- 
day; fish  or  flesh.  We  were  at  peace,  and  then  it 
did  not  signify.  We  are  now  attacked — besieged 
in  our  entrenchments;  whether  under  these  cir- 
cumstances we  should  hoist  our  enemies'  colours, 
and  cede  all  our  outworks  at  their  first  summons, 
I  must  refer  you  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  My 
own  view  is,  that  in  decision,  not  in  compromise, 
our  path  of  duty  and  of  safety  lies. 

With  respect  to  our  intercourse  with  the  party 
in  the  affairs  of  common  life,  I  suppose  the  duty 
must  vary  with  the  circumstances.  You  have  ex- 
perienced, more  perhaps  than  any  one,  the  difficul- 
ty of  holding  spiritual  intercourse  and  conversa- 
tion with  them.  Where  it  does  not  resolve  itself 
into  disputation  and  contention,  it  must  be  very 
desirable  to  bring  the  truth  to  bear  upon  the  erring 
and  deluded  proselytes  of  either  form  of  apostacy; 
but  it  must  still  be  simple,  straightforward,  uncom- 
promising truth:  or  God  will  not  bless  it  to  the 
hearer  or  the  speaker;  and  in  most  cases,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  get  through  without  offence.  I  would  not, 
however,  discourage  the  attempt  in  any  one  who 
has  at  once  courage  and  self-possession  enough, 
to  bear  their  master's  banner  unscathed  through 
25* 


294  LETTERS. 

the  enemies'  lies,  without  making  it  a  call  to 
arms;  an  unavailing  strife  of  words  to  no  good 
issue. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXIL— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

July,  1844. 
My  dear  Friend, 
It  is  due  to  your  love,  to  tell  you  among  the  first 
of  the  final  arrangement  of  our  long  expected 
move.  Within  three  weeks,  we  draw  our  stakes 
and  loosen  our  cords,  to  fix  our  tent  elsewhere.  I 
hardly  know  how  I  feel  about  it:  perhaps  as  you 
would  if  you  were  leaving  *  *  *;  perhaps  as  a 
donkey  does  when  he  has  tossed  his  load  on  his 
head,  and  stands  kicking  his  heels  up  in  the  air, 
without  well  knowing  what  is  to  follow.  Glad,  I 
am  sure  I  am,  but  whether  to  be  eased  of  superflu- 
ous good,  or  of  the  care  that  for  the  two  last  years 
has  embittered  it,  I  am  not  sure.  Dishonest  indeed 
I  have  been  to  my  heavenly  Father,  if  I  have  not 
truly  told  Him  in  every  prayer,  that  I  am  willing 
to  relinquish  any  temporal  enjoyment  for  the  spiri- 
tual advantages  I  expect.  I  am  willing,  I  am  de- 
sirous:  I  am  very  grateful  to  be  allowed  the 
change,  if  this  is  to  be  the  issue,  which  He  only 


LETTERS. 


205 


knows,  who  hears  my  constant  and  abiding  pray- 
er, to  have  less  of  the  world,  and  more  of  Him 
and  His. 

We  have  taken  a  very  comfortable  house  at 
,  very  pleasantly  situated,  but  with  no  gar- 
den. Only  think  how  I  shall  enjoy  myself  when  I 
come  thence  to  visit  you;  and,  dear  friend,  if  ever 
you  come  to  visit  us,  you  will  take  of  our  fruits 
and  flowers,  as  we  of  yours,  for  you  shall  stay  one 
Sunday.  Meantime,  you  must  think  of  me  as 
half-distracted  with  cornices  and  canopies  and 
carpeting;  and  all  longing  for  a  house  not  made 
with  hands,  that  will  not  need  this  trumpery.  Till 
this  is  over,  I  may  not  see  you,  scarce  think  of 
you — but  still  be, 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Carol i  n  e  VVi  lso  y. 


LXIIL— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

July,  1844. 
My  dear  Friend, 

I  wanted  you  to  speak  to  me  of  your  position, 
not  because  I  did  not  know  it,  but  because  until 
you  did  so,  I  could  not  properly  speak  of  it  to  you, 
to  express  my  sympathy  and  feelings  for  you. 
These  are  greater  than  my  surprise,  for  I  think 


296  LETTERS. 

you  have  had  apprehensions  of  the  kind  for  some 
time,  and  many  other  things  gave  indication  of 
what  might  come  to  pass.  But  farther  than  this  I 
have  thought,  that  if  God  had  purposes  of  loving- 
kindness  towards  all  or  any  of  you,  some  such 
thing  must  come  to  pass,  to  arrest  a  course  as  pain- 
ful I  am  sure  to  you,  as  grievous  to  all  your  friends, 
and  ruinous  to  your  dear  children.  Now  the  mes- 
senger has  come,  and  you  must  call  the  place  Bo- 
chim.*  And  so  you  will ;  and  you  will  think  be- 
side, how  much  severer  a  message  of  reproof  it 
might  have  been.  There  might  have  been  a  sum- 
mons without  warning;  there  might  have  been  the 
cutting  off  of  children,  in  the  midst  of  earthliness 
and  error;  or  you,  dear,  might  have  been  called 
upon  to  leave  them,  uncertain  whether  they  would 
have  followed  where  you  go.  Now  all  of  these 
things  are  spared  you,  and  time  given  for  rinding, 
or  returning,  to  the  way  of  life.  It  is  a  painful, 
very  painful  dispensation:  do  not  suppose  I  think 
lightly  of  it,  but  I  do  hope  the  temporal  loss,  and 
temporary  privation,  may  be  your  gain  in  spiritual 
enjoyment  even  now,  besides  the  eternal  issues  af- 
fecting those  you  love.  Be  sure  that  all  that  con- 
cerns you  remains  upon  our  hearts  with  real  inter- 
est.    If  you  should  remain  the  summer  at , 

and  at  any  time  feel  that  our  corning  would  not  be 
oppressive  and  disagreeable  to  other  parties,  we 
should  have  great  pleasure  in  seeing  you  there 

*  Judges  ii. 


LETTERS. 


297 


once  again.  I  always  find  my  love  grow  on  the 
declining  prosperity  of  rny  friends  ;  I  rather  think 
it  is  the  character  of  Christian  affection  to  do  so, 
for  I  believe  our  gracious  Master  does  the  same; 
more  tender  towards  the  sick  ones  of  the  house- 
hold. But  worldly  feelings  understand  not  this: 
and  you  must  be  candid,  and  not  ask  us,  if  it  will 
be  unpleasant  to  any  body.  I  could  most  wish  to 
hear  the  place  was  gone,  for  I  know  by  experience, 
how  painful  the  going  is,  and  how  much  better 
over.  But  I  tell  you  how  the  dela^  will  act  to  your 
advantage;  you  will  look  upon  every  thing  with 
painful  feelings,  till  your  heart  is  wholly  weaned 
from  them;  and  then,  when  the  leaving  comes, 
instead  of  being  a  painful  effort  to  resign  them,  it 
will  be  a  grateful  sense  of  satisfaction  as  for  a 
great  relief.  So,  dear  friend,  let  your  heavenly 
Father  manage  it  in  his  own  way.  If  you  have 
retained  the  light  of  His  countenance,  that  is 
enough  for  you,  and  for  the  rest,  hope  all  things; 
striving  only  to  be  faithful  to  them,  as  you  are  to 
Him;  and  not  to  do,  as  He  does  not,  lose  his  chil- 
dren by  too  indulgent  love.  I  was,  as  usual,  much 
pleased  with ,  and  much  with  all  she  seem- 
ed to  feel  upon  this  painful  subject.  In  her,  God 
has,  I  trust,  given  you  an  abiding  blessing,  that 
will,  under  all  circumstances,  administer  to  your 
comfort  or  consolation. 

Let  us  try  to  look  on  the  bright  side  still,  and 
count  your  gains  instead  of  losses.  I  do  not  won- 
der at  your  temporary  depression ;  but  that  will 


208 


LETTERS. 


not  return  ;  it  was  only  to  break  you  into  more 
peaceful  submission.  This  done,  the  opposing  bar- 
rier of  self-will  broken  away,  the  stream  will  run 
more  smoothly :  though  at  times  it  swell,  it  shall 
not  overflow,  to  go  over  you.  "  When  thou  pass- 
est  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee." 
Ever  affectionately  Yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXIV.— TO  LADY  ***** 

September  14,  1844. 


My  dear  Lady 


Much  and  many  thanks  for  two  prompt  and 
wrelcome  notes.  I  shall  give  all  attention  to  your 
lists,  but  rather  apprehend  you  are  in  the  wrong 

class  of  books,  for  the  C .     Such  as  the 

,  &c,  are  too  trifling,  others  too  long 

out.    Reviews  of  that  sort  take  only  notice  of  new 

publications;  the  C only  of  those  that, 

more  or  less,  can  be  made  to  bear  upon  religion ; 
and  are  of  some  weight  for  or  against  the  truth. 
Not  tales  or  novels,  I  apprehend,  unless  weight  be 
given  by  the  names  of  men,  who  write  them;  as 
was  the  case  with  Messrs.  Paget  and  Gresley. 


LETTERS.  299 

The  thing  that  most  astounds  my  incapability,  is 
how  you  can  read  so  many  sermons.  I  cannot 
read  any;  and  Seeley  would  tell  you  nobody  reads 
sermons:  as  he  says  to  all  that  propose  to  print 
them.     I  do  not  think  more  than  the  brief  notices, 

at  the  end  of  the  C ,  could  be  acceptable 

on  that  head,  not  worth  the  work  of  reading  for. 
The  only  one  you  have  so  kindly  troubled  yourself 
to  register,  that  does  not  appear  to  me  too  old,  or 
too  trifling  for  a  lengthened  review,  may  be  Lady 
C.  L ;  if,  as  you  say,  it  is  likely  to  have  influ- 
ence:— query  whether  it  can  have  any,  or  will  be 

heard  of,  where   the is  read,  which  is 

not  among  fashionables  assuredly ;  whereas  we  of 
the  graver  sort,  who  read  and  write,  do  not  re- 
quire information  upon  works  that  never  appear 
amongst  us.     You  may  know   otherwise ;    but   I 

have   an  impression,   the only   moves 

among  the  clergy  and  others,  of  the  more  decided 
tone.  I  will  ask  S ,  if  Lady  C.  L is  suit- 
able;  but,  you  ask  me  to  tell  you,  what  I  hear 
about  it:  the  probability  is,  I  shall  never  meet  an 
individual  who  has  heard  of  it;  so  little  are  such 
books  thought  of  in  my  sphere.  For  myself,  I  de- 
precate religious  novels  wholly  and  entirely;  and 
never  should  open  one,  but  for  the  specific  purpose 
of  reviewing.  Re-perusing  your  former  letters,  I 
can  heartily  join  in  your  wish,  if  not  your  hope 
about  field-preaching.  Our  church  is  not,  in  her 
present  form,  the  church  of  the  people,  but  of  the 
upper  half  of  them  ;  and  so  it  will  remain,  while 


300 


LETTERS. 


the  supposed  remedy  for  our  need  is  church-build- 
ing, instead  of  gospel  preaching.  But,  alas!  the 
tide  runs  all  in  that  direction,  and  1  see  no  prospect 
of  a  reflux.  I  rather  anticipate  that  the  dominant 
party  will  lay  the  cold  hand  of  formality  on  all  of 
life  or  utility  that  is  within  its  reach,  until, — I  can- 
not, and  you  will  not  wish  that  time  arrived — when 
here,  as  in  Scotland,  we  shall  worship  in  the  high- 
ways, for  lack  of  the  churches,  from  which  we  shall 
be  ejected.  So  speaks  my  prophetic  muse.  May 
she  prove  a  lying  prophet,  is  my  wish  and  prayer; 
but,  "  Give  peace  in  our  time,  O  Lord,"  is  the  very 
utmost  that  my  faith  can  compass,  even  in  the 
prayerful  utterance  of  my  wishes. 

It  is  needless  to  repeat,  that  I  do  not  agree  with 
your  Clericus,  as  to  where  our  safety  and  our  wis- 
dom lies;  having  so  fully  heretofore  explained  my- 
self to  you.  I  see  no  authority  in  the  Bible  for  his 
views.  I  shall  meditate  the  subject,  on  which  you 
wish  me  to  "  write  a  book,  for  I  terribly  want  to 
begin  one  now;  and  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  by 
any  explanation  of  your  views  about  it.  Assuredly 
you  know  that  world  better  than  I  do  now  ;  though 
once  I  did,  which  made  the  "  Listener"  so  mis- 
chievously efficacious.  I  rejoice  to  find  you  well 
enough  to  dine  en  masse.  I  am  too  nervous,  (vul- 
gariter,  shy)  for  a  table  d'hote,  it  takes  my  appe- 
tite right  away ;  but  I  dare  say  you  often  find  very 
pleasant  acquaintance  in  that  manner.  Out  of  doors 
gaiety  is  by  no  means  so  disturbing  to  me;  and  I 
delight  myself  greatly  with  the  drums,  trumpets 


LETTERS.  3Q  l 

and   guns,  flying  artillery,  and   battery  practice, 
that  goes  on  before  my  windows  every  day. 

C.  Wilson. 


LXV.— TO  LADY  *****. 

Woolwich  Common,  Dec.  16,  1844. 

My  dear  Lady , 

While  I  have  not  written  to  you,  I  have  been 

doing  your  bidding — smashing  Lady  C.  L 

to  my  heart's  content — shame  on  her ;  if  she  is  a 
child  of  God,  if  not,  I  have  nothing  to  say  about 
it.  It  is  sensible  and  well-written,  after  her  man- 
ner, but  I  wish  I  had  power  to  extinguish  such 
books  for  ever.     You  will  see  what  I  mean  in  the 

next ;  I  wish  she  could  read  it  without 

knowing  whence  it  came.  I  would  not  criticise 
minutely  what  I  deprecate  wholly — the  better  the 
worse  is  all  I  can  say.  To  please  S ,  I  touch- 
ed on  all  the  other  books,  which  is  as  you  suppose, 
a  common  practice,  where  there  is  something  in 
common,  and  not  gone  by  in  time.  The  worst  of 
reviewing  such  books  is  the  necessity  of  reading 
them — the  pleasure  of  abusing  them  is  great. 

Do  tell  me  everything  you  take  the  trouble  of 
thinking  about  my  writing,  past,  and  especially 
future,  for  I  am  really  at  a  loss  often  what  to  set 

about.     Miss  F — is  a  near  neighbour,  but  I 

26 


302 


LETTERS. 


have  not  met  her  yet,  nor  do  I  know  her  writing. 
I  do  not  think  you  say  truly  of  yourself  respect- 
ing the  unconverted.  Our  feeling  towards  them 
cannot  be  too  strong ;  is  never,  1  believe,  strong 
enough,  at  least  my  own  is  not ;  and  yet  I  would 
do  any  thing  to  save  a  soul,  if  I  thought  I  possibly 
might,  in  preference  to  every  other  work  of  love,  for 
it  is  surely  first.  Whether  I  think  the  preaching  of 
the  law  in  the  first  instance  is  the  best  and  likeliest 
method  to  bring  the  soul  to  Christ,  is  another 
thing;  perhaps  I  do  not,  but  it  may  be  so  some- 
times :  and  I  am  still  thinking  of  what  you  suggest, 
and  always  am  delighted  and  obliged  with  your 
suggestions, — so  pray  go  on.  I  am  sure  your 
walk  in  life  is  a  very  important  one,  and  God  has 
especially  endowed  you  for  it,  to  sing  the  Lord's 
song  in  a  strange  land  ;  where  I,  alas,  should  hang 
my  silent  harp  upon  the  willows — for  very  sadness. 
How  easily  would  you  answer  your  own  question. 
"  Why  is  this  ?"  I  wish  I  could  transmit  you  all 
a  sermon  I  just  now  heard  upon  "  Wre  have  this 
treasure  in  earthen  vessels ;"  but  there  is  enough 
in  the  text  to  solve  your  problem.  If  we  had  it 
always  in  the  fine  porcelain  of  the  earth,  we  should 
straightway  fancy  there  was  some  value  in  the  ves- 
sel itself;  and  if  it  were  gilded  quite  over  the  base 
clay,  we  should  straightway  believe  the  clay  itself 
was  gold.  Is  not  God's  glory  always  his  first  ob- 
ject in  those  he  loves  and  saves  ?  and  does  He  not 
well  to  manifest,  how  little  his  Pearl  can  lose  or 
gain  by  the  more  or  less  beauty  of  the  setting? 


LETTERS. 


303 


This  I  say  with  reference  to  your  first  remark, 
about  good  feeling  and  high  principle  in  the  people 
of  the  world.  I  cannot  admit  the  fact  generally, 
that  those  who  live  in  sin  are  God's  people  at  all, 
whatever  they  may  have  professed.  False  pro- 
fession is  truly  very  painful  and  disheartening,  and 
sends  us  to  the  Word,  to  try  our  ground  again ; 
whether  we  believe  an  empty  fable.  No  more 
now,  but  do  write  to  your 

Most  undeserving, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXVI. TO  LADY  ***** 

November  22,  1844. 


My  dear  Lady 

I  feel  it  a  long  time  since  I  communicated  with 
you.  I  think  continually  about  you,  nevertheless, 
wonder  how  you  are  going  on ;  hope  you  are  get- 
ting more  accustomed  to  your  strange  position ; 
more  cheerful  and  peaceful  under  your  reverses; 
more  joyful  in  anticipation,  and  in  memory  less 
sad;  and  then  I  ask  myself  why,  since  I  want  to 
know  all  this,  I  do  not  write  and  ask?  Thank  you 
for  all  such  information  given  in  your  last,  and  do 
believe  that  you  cannot  write  anything,  about  your- 
self and  yours,  that  does  not  wake  my  sympathy 


304 


LETTERS. 


to  pleasure  or  to  pain.  It  is  always  a  satisfaction 
to  me,  that  I  know  your  island-home ;  and  where 
you  walk,  and  what  you  see,  and  who  you  live 
amongst.  I  can  imagine  winter  makes  as  little 
change  in  your  beauties,  as  can  be  anywhere, — 
one  great  advantage  of  the  sea,  and  the  sea-tem- 
pered atmosphere.  Glad  I  was  to  hear  you  had 
achieved  anything  like  a  home  of  your  own,  that  is 
a  house  to  yourself,  instead  of  furnished  lodgings. 
I  could  think  of  few  things,  so  little  likely  to  be 
mental  improvement,  as  the  study  of  German  and 

Italian  authors ;  wherefore  it  was  I  wished 

occupied  with  something  better.  Meantime  do  not 
take  my  w7ords  for  more  than  they  mean.  She  is 
young,  unformed,  and  inexperienced,  quite  capa- 
ble and  quite  likely  to  grow  wiser  as  well  as  older; 
and  to  be  turned  away  from  the  erroneous  views 
and  dangerous  fantasies  that  now  bewilder  her. 
But  of  deep  importance,  of  tremendous  importance 
is  it,  what  influence  she  abides  under  now,  whether 
of  companionship  or  books;  for  that  which  makes 
one  smile,  as  the  folly  of  a  girl,  will  make  one  sad 
indeed  as  the  delusion  of  a  woman.  Truly  sorry 
I  am  on  her  account  as  well  as  yours,  that  the 

S s  have  left  you;  and  so  withdrawn  the 

better  influence  of  their  better  minds.  May  the 
Divine  light  and  grace,  dearest  friend,  make  you 
all  I  once  knew  you;  except  in  that  which  cannot 
be  restored  here,  but  will  be  hereafter;  and  make 
your  dear  child,  nil  that  you  once  wished  her,  and 
I  once  hoped  to  see  her:  then  we  shall  be  agreed 


LETTERS. 


305 


again  in  opinion,  as  we  are  now  in  love  for  each 
other  and  interest  for  her.  That  it  will  be  so  I 
hope  and  expect,  because  in  looking  to  the  future, 
I  cannot  forget  the  past.  We  are  all  here  going 
on  prosperously,  and  I  hope  thankfully;  liking 
Woolwich  extremely;  and  not  insensible  of  our 
great  responsibility,  if  with  so  much  privilege,  of 
those  that  plant  and  water,  and  Him  that  giveth 
increase,  we  grow  not  up  in  daily  increasing  sta- 
ture, and  fulness  of  Christ. 

Dear  Milady,  may  we  meet  again;  meantime, 
let  there  be  openness  and  faithfulness  and  confi- 
dence, not  mystery,  between  us,  even  while  there 
cannot  be  agreement.  With  kindest  wishes  to  the 
young  Islander,  believe  me, 

Ever  yours,  most  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilsox. 

P.  S. — There  is  but  one  subject,  dearest,  of  your 
letter  which  must  be  an  embarrassment  between 
us;  because  I  cannot  speak  my  mind  upon  it, 
without  giving  you  pain,  at  a  time  when  I  feel 
that  you  have  pain  enough;  and  yet  you  must 
feel  my  silence  says  as  much  as  if  I  spoke  my 
mind;  with  more  liability  of  misapprehension. 
Prejudice  in  my  mind,  must  necessarily  be  all  in 
favour  of  your  child.  But  after  all,  there  really  can- 
not be  much  mystery  between  us,  about  the  matter. 
You  have  known  my  mind  so  long  and  intimately 
heretofore  on  all  matters,  but  especially  on  reli- 
gion, and  that  mind  remains  so  wholly  and  entirely 
26* 


306  LETTERS. 

unchanged,  it  cannot  be  unknown  to  you  or  any 
wise  a  secret  from  you,  that  your  dear  child  is  not 
what  /would  have  her;  and  in  other  and  better 
days,  did  confidently  hope  from  her.  The  misera- 
ble nonsense  I  saw  her  read,  the  mistaken  views  I 
heard  her  express,  and  the  influence  under  which 
I  saw  her  to  be  thinking,  feeling,  and  acting,  gave 
occasion  to  my  earnestly-expressed  hope,  that  her 
new  friends  would  be  wiser  than  her  old  ones; 
and  lead  her  back  to  the  paths  of  truth  and  peace. 


LXVIL— TO  LADY  *  *  *  *    * 

January  6,  1845. 

My  dear  Lady  — — 

I  cannot  think  how  it  is  I  am  so  long  in  writing, 
while  the  non-arrival  of  letters  from  you  is  to  my- 
self so  great  a  miss.  Thought  rather  than  time, 
has  perhaps  been  pre-occupied — to  say  nothing  of 
Christmas  in  London,  which  slays  my  intellectual 
being  dead. 

I  have  just  lost  another  of  my  sometime  many 
sisters;  for  I  was  at  ihe  fag-end  of  a  family  often. 
It  is  no  cause  of  grief,  but.  rather  of  exalted  joy, 
that  one  so  sweet  and  saint-like,  at  an  advanced 
age,  and  with  nothing  to  leave  on  earth,  has  put 
on  a  long-expected  crown.     My  only  thought  of 


LETTERS. 


307 


sadness  is  something  about  survivorship  in  a  fast- 
emptying  world — a  sort  of  lag-behind,  when  so 
many  are  gone  before.  We  must  put  away  such 
feelings,  and  be  ashamed  of  impatience  in  our 
day's  work.  If  I  did  it  better,  I  think  I  should  be 
less  impatient.  Enough  of  self.  All  compliments, 
good  wishes,  and  bright  blessings  of  the  season  to 
yourself. 

We  are  irr  some  spirits  about  your  neighbour  of 
Exeter;  we  shall  beat  him,  and  thereby  keep  other 
meddlers  quiet,  I  trust.  It  is  encouraging,  too,  to 
find  in  the  laity  so  much  care  about  the  matter. 
That  the  people  would  not  become  Tractarian,  I 
was  always  sure;  and  one  of  the  many  evils 
therefrom  to  be  anticipated,  I  thought  was,  that 
we  should  have  one  religion  for  the  people,  and 
another  for  the  aristocracy:  a  calamitous  point  in 
any  nation's  history.  I  scarcely  hoped  for  so 
speedy  and  spirited  a  resistance  of  the  first  in- 
roads. You  will  not  be  so  much  pleased  as  I  am, 
to  see  the  first  battle  fought  and  victory  gained, 
over  the  black  and  white  gown.  I  have  not  read 
the  "Cross  and  Crescent."  It  was  ordered  for 
our  Reading  Society,  but  I  believe  is  to  be  sup- 
pressed as  too  free:  in  which  case  I  shall  not  see 
it.  I  am  not  for  reviewing  much,  having  a  book  in 
hand;  only  in  case  of  something  very  desirable. 

We  find  your  Dublin  Magazine  very  intelligent; 
I  have  forgotten  to  say,  "thank'ye"  for  it.  Let  me 
have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  soon,  if  only  that  you 
are  well ;  and  I  will  try  to  seem  more  grateful  in 


308  LETTERS. 

future.  Reverting  to  your  letter,  I  see  your  men- 
tion of  Dr.  Arnold.  Why!  you  would  laugh  if  you 
could  hear  all  I  say  about  it ;  because  my  admira- 
tion exceeds  the  limit  of  common  parlance,  and 
runs  riot.  It  is  long  since  I  have  or  shall  50  like 
another  book ;  so  new,  so  fresh,  so  lofty,  so  pure, 
so  independent ;  but  if  I  were  to  characterize  it 
all  in  one  word,  it  would  be  sense.  Farewell,  I 
hope  you  will  mention  the  precious  child  when  you 
write. 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXVIII.— TO  LADY  ***** 

February  22, 1845. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  must  take  occasion  of  the  thanks  due  to  you 
for  the  pretty  shawl,  just  arrived,  to  perfect  my 
answer  to  your  letter.    The  shawl  arrived  by  post 

two  days  since,  and  also  a  note  from  Mrs. , 

requesting  me  to  let  her  know  that  1  received  it, 
which  of  course  I  did.  The  workmanship  is  very 
good,  and  the  texture  most  delicate;  I  beg  you  to 
believe  I  shall  have  much  gratification  in  wearing 
it  as  your  gift.  For  the  subject-matter  yet  unan- 
swered of  your  last  nice  long  letter — I  am  not  sur- 


LETTERS. 


309 


prised  that  you  cannot  feel  the  importance  of  these 
petty  innovations,  seeing  that  to  you  they  are  not 

so,  being  really  habituated  to  such  things  in ; 

but  if  any  clergyman  in  England  now  persists  in 
them,  contrary  to  the  known  habits  and  wishes  of 
an  English  congregation,  it  is  a  perversity  impos- 
sible to  conceive,  if  he  does  not  attach  importance 
to  them;  and  if  he  does,  that  importance  stands 
upon  the  ruinous  corruption  of  our  faith.  *If  they 
be  insignificant,  why  offend  with  them  even  one  of 
the  weakest  of  their  flock  ;  much  more,  why  offend, 
the  whole  weight  of  public  opinion  in  our  country? 
It  is  difficult  to  set  limits  to  mortal  absurdity;  but 
the  man  who  does  this,  without  an  ulterior  mean- 
ing, passes  my  most  generous  indulgence  for  his 
folly;  and,  moreover,  exceeds  my  credulity  of  the 
fact.'  You  may  know  otherwise.  I  forgot  in  the 
haste  of  my  last,  to  say  that  I  think  the  extract  for- 
merly inclosed,  is  very  suitable  to  the  times:  and 
in  effect  most  true,  as  to  where  the  danger  hides 
itself;  and  therefore  is  most  dangerous. 

There  is   an influence  again,  perhaps,  in 

your  opinion  of  Arnold's  book,  and  also  a  political 
one,  which  does  not  weigh  so  heavily  with  me. 
A  Tory  I  am,  most  entirely  ;  but  not  having,  like 
yourself,  others  to  think  for,  such  matters  do  not 
affect  my  estimate  of  a  character,  nor  my  enjoy- 
ment of  a  book.  I  do  not  agree  with  Arnold  in  a 
hundred  things:  but  I  do  admire  him  more  than  I 
have  done  man  of  woman  born  for  many  a  day  ; 
and  have  not  hesitated  to  recommend  the  work  to 


310 


LETTERS. 


any  one.  However,  you  are  not  alone  ;  opinions 
run  so  high  for  and  against  the  book,  it  is  danger- 
ous to  name  it  in  company,  lest  you  open  a  fire  of 
disputation.  Nothing,  however,  seems  to  abate 
the  vivacity  of  my  enthusiasm  in  his  favour;  there 
is  no  accounting  sometimes  for  peculiar  sympa- 
thies with  character;  but  never  to  me  can  super- 
ficial spots  upon  the  disc,  be  conjured  into  an 
eclipse.  What  do  you  think  of  the  Irish  Educa- 
tion schemes  ? 

I  suppose  it  is  yet  doubtful  whether  the  Oxford 

sentence    against   W is    good    in  law ;    but 

whether  or  not,  it  is  a  great  triumph  of  the  right 
that  it  has  been  past.  Like  another  great  agitator 
he  can  only  come  off  on  a  technicality  :  which  will 
not  affect  the  view  of  his  deserts.  The  decease 
of  the  Camden  Society  is  another  glorious  issue  of 

our  struggle.     Your must  be,  by  your  last 

account  of  him,  very  little  deserving  to  be  ranked 
among  the  innovators.  I  cannot  but  foresee  he 
will  soon  doff  their  colours,  if  he  still  wears  them. 

I  did  not  say  more  about  the  particular  story  of 

Sir ,  because  prohibition,  not  criticism,  was 

my  object.  It  matters  not  what  is  in  it.  I  wish- 
ed it,  and  all  like  it,  whether  better  or  worse,  un- 
uritten  and  unread,  which  makes  of  no  moment 
the  morality  of  the  story,  or  the  lessons  it  con- 
veys. I  feel  much  as  you  express  yourself  of  the 
baptismal  tract.  The  man  who  writes  it  ought  not 
to  use  the  baptismal  service  ;  nor  he  who  believes 


LETTERS.  g|j 

it ;  therefore  it  is  a  pity  so  to  enhance  the  difficul- 
ties of  a  conscientious  minister  of  our  church. 

I  hope  to  hear  you  are  better,  and  your  interest- 
ing invalid  at  least  not  worse.  What  a  fearful 
treasure  is  that  sweet  child  ;  but  the  other  is  the 
darkest  cloud  still. 

I  wish  you  would  not  get  up  so  soon  in  the 
morning  ;  I  don't  like  works  of  supererogation,  and 
think  it  cannot  be  good  for  you.  Now  farewell, 
with  many  thanks,  for  all  kind  words  and  thoughts 
and  deeds.  You  are  the  only  person  who  ex- 
tracts a  long  letter  from  me,  and  they  but  little 
worth  :  for  it  is  a  by-gone  talent  with  me  to  write 
a  letter.     Yet  I  am 

Ever  affectionately  yours  : 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LX1X.— TO  LADY  ***** 

May  26,  1845. 

My  dear  Lady , 

I  was  delighted  at  sight  of  your  letter,  which  if 
mine  reached  you  at  all,  it  crossed  on  the  road.  I 
am  not  surprised  that  you  cannot  find  my  felicities 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  any  more  than  my  horrors  in 
London.  All  these  things  depend,  most  happily, 
on  habits,  tastes  and  feelings,  infinitely  and  benefi- 


312  LETTERS. 

cently  varied  according  to  our  health,  position  and 
estate.  I  did  not  think  you  would  find  very  much 
of  higher  and  better  things ;  and  so  it  proves. 
The  main  subject  between  us  this  time,  is  to  be 
Mesmerism,  you  say.     Upon  this  my  mind  is  very 

well  made  up,  in  despite  of  C.  E.  and  Miss  M , 

only  I  do  wish  that  wise  women  would  not  write 
nonsense.  If  Mesmerism  has  cured  anybody  of 
anything,  as  I  dare  say  it  has,  it  is  of  course  avail- 
able as  a  remedy  for  disease;  and  it  appears  to 
me  perfectly  absurd,  to  suppose  it  less  lawful  than 
any  other  means.  It  is  simply  a  matter  of  experi- 
ment and  fact ;  and  certainly  I  should  try  it,  if  I 
believed  in  its  efficacy ;  which  would  depend  not 
on  argument  but  fact,  taken  not  upon  opinion  but 
testimony.  At  present  I  believe  it  is  occasionally, 
not  generally,  efficacious.  For  all  other  purposes, 
I  believe  it  a  mixture  of  delusion  and  imposture. 
I  strike  off  a  large  part  of  its  wonders,  as  deliber- 
ate deception  ;  another  part  as  ignorant  delusions  ; 
and  all  that  remains,  such  as  real  fits  of  insensi- 
bility, hysterics,  somnambulancy,  that  may  be 
superinduced  on  weak,  sensitive  and  nervous  sub- 
jects, to  be  perfectly  explicable  on  well-known 
natural  principles,  without  supposing  anything 
supernatural.  If  I  believed  it  more,  I  should  be- 
lieve it  unlawful ;  but  even  so,  I  should  avoid  it  as 
monstrously  foolish  and  dangerous,  unless  medical- 
ly applied.  As  to  what  pious  clergymen  may  write 
or  say,  it  is  a  fact  against  which  experience  can- 
not close  its  eyes,  that  the  grace  of  God  which  im- 


LETTERS.  313 

parts  to  his  servants  so  much  of  better  things, 
does  not  endow  them  with  worldly  wisdom,  or 
give  them  sound  judgment  upon  matters  not  direct- 
ly spiritual ;  there  is  no  manner  of  vagary,  by 
which  sound  and  good  men  have  not  been  for  a 
time  deluded ;  and  I  am  fain  to  confess  thereon, 
that  their  testimony  carries  with  it  little  weight  to 
my  mind,  except  it  be  statements  of  plain  fact,  or 
the  evidence  of  their  own  senses,  without  note  or 
comment.  At  the  same  time,  I  own  no  sympathy 
with  those  who,  like ,  &c,  refer  all  such  mat- 
ters to  Satanic  influence.  Satan  is  wiser  than  his 
instruments,  he  takes  advantage  of  all  human 
follies  ;  if  he  invented  them  he  would  do  it  better, 
as  I  think.  So  wonderful  and  curious  are  the 
operations  and  influences  of  nature,  nothing  of 
that  sort  passes  my  belief;  but  I  am,  for  that  very 
reason,  slow  to  accept  evidence  of  supernatural 
influence. 

*******  Assuredly  your  daughter  cannot  be 
wrong,  to  try  all  means  with  her  dear  boy,  and 
hope  and  pray  to  the  last.  Your  new  charge  is  a 
heavy  and  affecting  one.  I  suspect  few  are  so 
well  endowed  as  yourself,  to  meet  it  and  fulfil  it; 
and  wisdom  and  power,  not  your  own,  will  assured- 
ly be  added  unto  you.  It  is  an  affecting  case,  and 
yet  how  much  mercy  and  amelioration  in  it.  May 
God  support  and  guide  you,  as  he  will.  I  don't 
know  your  house  by  it's  name  ;  so  perhaps  it  is  not 
where  I  guessed.  My  writing  stands  sadly  still, 
from  seeing  too  much  company  ;  which  is  not  so 
27 


314 


LETTERS. 


good  for  me  as  thought  and  paper.     In  haste  and 
bustle  still 

Most  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


,'LXX.— TO  LADY  ***** 

July  1,  1845. 

My  dear  Lady 

Time  has  stolen  on,  and  I  have  not  thanked  you 
for  a  mueh-desired  letter,  desired  they  always 
are ;  but  most  after  delay.  Reasons  about  as 
usual  with  myself,  writing  and  a  good  deal  of 
company  in  and  out,  tending  to  distraction  of 
thought.  I  hope  Southampton  will  agree  with  you 
better  than  the  Island  ;  but  am  accustomed  to  think 
it  a  relaxing  air,  and  not  healthful.  I  believe, 
however,  these  are  mostly  relative  rather  than  ab- 
stract propositions,  according  to  the  constitution 
on  which  they  act.  I  am  quite  concerned  for 
your  many  and  not  light  troubles;  but  do  trust  that 
they  will  subside,  as  the  most  troubled  waters  are 
wont  to  do,  at  the  Divine  word.  Meantime  there 
is  no  more  to  say,  but  "  Fear  not,  for  I  am  with 
thee." 

We  are,  thank  God,  much  as  usual,  spared  all 
the  heavier  trials  of  humanity,  and  I  trust  grateful 


LETTERS.  315 

for  health  and  peace ;  but  most  of  all  for  grace  and 
pardon,  and  a  brighter  world  to  come.  Next  week 
I  expect  we  are  going  from  home,  to  Folkestone 
first,  for  about  three  weeks  ;  but  if  you  are  kind 
enough  to  write,  I  shall  be  anxious  for  a  few 
words  of  medical  report ;  and  your  letters  will  be 
forwarded  wherever  I  may  be.  Let  me  not  be 
long  ignorant  where  to  find  you,  at  any  time. 
Poor  Ireland  seems  to  fall  from  bad  to  wrorse,  and 
who  can  even  pretend  to  read  the  issue  ?  *  *  *  * 
The  religious  aspect  of  things  looks  all  of  one 
colour,  and  that  a  sombre  one,  as  if  men — rulers 
at  least — were  determined  to  level  all,  and  cast 
Truth  quite  out  of  the  account,  till  God  be  pro- 
fessedly, as  well  as  virtually,  forgotten  ;  and  all 
distinctions  of  truth  and  error  denied.  This  very 
liberalism  gives  the  Puseyites  a  check,  for  the  pres- 
ent at  least.  God  knows  his  own  purposes  in  all;  and 
will  give  us,  I  trust,  submission.  Oh  !  when  will 
patience  have  its  perfect  work  ?  It  is  far  from  it 
still  in  me. 

I  pray  God  to  restore  your  family  to  health,  and 
to  amend  your  own.     Ever  believe  me, 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Carolina  Wilson. 


316  LETTERS. 

LXXI.— TO  LADY  ***** 

September  8,  1845. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  was  glad  indeed  to  receive  your  kind  note 
yesterday.  I  had  been  really  anxious,  yet  was 
afraid  to  trouble  you  with  inquiry.  Thank  God 
for  your  restoration,  which  most  heartily  I  do, 
though  the  least  of  the  many  who  cannot  spare 
you.  We  always  feared  the  Southampton  atmos- 
phere for  you :  but  you  have  had  a  heavy  weight 
of  cares  as  well :  and  though  I  believe  you  are  not 
so  nervous  a  person  as  myself,  where  is  the  tem- 
perament that  does  not  more  or  less  suffer  bodily 
for  the  mind's  sorrowing  and  carefulness  I  I  can 
well  believe,  that  the  near  vision  of  eternity  at 
hand,  has  so  far  lightened  them  as  to  increase 
your  perception  of  their  nothingness,  and  reduce 
to  a  minimum  of  difference  life's  best  and  worst. 
But  then  you  are  feeling  so  much  for  others,  who 
have  still  a  life  before  them,  desolate  and  bereaved 
of  their  most  precious  child.  May  you  be  strength- 
ened and  comforted,  both  with  them  and  in  them. 
Spare  yourself,  meantime,  from  all  bodily  and 
mental  labour  that  can  be  dispensed  with,  how- 
ever much  it  deprives  your  absent  friends  of  your 
communications. 

Under  the  circumstances,  I  feel  ashamed  almost 
to  intrude  even  this  letter  upon  you,  unless  I  know 


LETTERS.  3J7 

something  which  it  would  interest  you  to  speak  of. 
But  oh!  how  minor  interests  sink  and  fade  before 
the  shadows  of  earthly  sorrow,  or  lights  of  un- 
earthly joy;  and  both  ways  your  thoughts  have 
been  withdrawn  from  common  converse  upon 
common  topics.  We  are  just  arrived  at  home 
from  our  short  holiday,  at  Folkestone  first,  and 
then  at  Southborough,  my  haven  of  delightsome 
refuge  from  the  dust  and  brownness  of  this  worn 
and  weary  region  of  the  habited  world ;  where 
the  oak-tree  and  the  heather  cure  all  my  maladies 
of  mind  and  body.  In  haste  and  unsettledness, 
therefore,  I  write  to  say  how  anxiously  and  sym- 
pathizingly  I  am, 

Ever  yours, 
Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXII.— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

September,  1845. 

My  dear  Friend, 
Truly  glad  am  I  to  get  your  note,  though  in  one 
sense  it  is  just  too  late.     We  postponed  as  late  as 

we  could  our  promised  visit  to  ,  in  hope  to 

hear  from  you,  but  could  not  make  up  our  minds 
to  write  to  you.  You  will  have  no  difficulty,  I 
trust,  to  understand  our  feeling  in  this.  We  knew 
how  many  you  have  to  please,  and  felt  the  proba- 
27* 


318  LETTERS. 

bility,  that  at  such  a  time  as  this,  our  presence 
might  not  be  agreeable  to  every  body,  however 
much  so  to  you.  We  feared,  if  we  wrote,  you 
would  not  like  to  refuse  us,  and  that  perhaps  some 
one  would  be  annoyed,  or  you  embarrassed;  so 
that  after  much  talk,  and  much  hesitation,  we  re- 
solved to  give  it  up,  and  we  only  yesterday  re- 
turned  from .     My   husband    says    he 

cannot  make  holiday  again.  We  have  three 
school-girls  coming  to  us  to-morrow  for  Michael- 
mas, and  a  further  reason  for  us  is,  you  know, 
that  we  cannot  afford  as  many  movements  as  we 
should  like;  therefore  I  fear  it  must  be  given  up 
for  this  season,  though  I  confess  myself  a  little 
vexed,  that  your   letter  failed  by  a  single  day  to 

find   us  at ,  whence  possibly  we  might 

have  stolen  just  till  Saturday  or  Monday.  How- 
ever, we  felt,  whilst  we  should  have  sincerely 
liked  to  come,  some  little  delicacy  about  it.  I  am 
thankful,  dearest,  for  the  tone  and  spirit  in  which 
you  are  able  to  wait.  That,  I  apprehend,  is  your 
lesson  now;  and  when  that  is  learned,  you  will  be 
taught  and  enabled  to  submit.  It  is  so  our  graces 
are  maintained,  our  spirits  perfected  in  Christ: 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little,  as  we  need  it,  and 
can  bear  it;  but  done  it  must  be.  "Patience 
must  have  her  perfect  work,"  and  no  one  grace  be 
wanting  at  the  last.  Happiest  they  that  are  the 
aptest  scholars,  to  learn  their  lesson  fastest,  and 
be  dismissed  from  tutelage  to  their  most  blessed 
home.     Do  give  my  love  to  all,  for  in  some  sort  I 


LETTERS.  gig 

do  feel  for  all.  I  have  been  a  little  out  of  health 
this  summer,  but  was  much  mended  by  my  sojourn 
at  Southborough  ;   and  am  still  further  improved 

by  the  few  days  passed   at .     Is  it  not 

the  greatest  of  all  blessings,  that  you  can  say,  you 
are  all  well.  Let  me  hear  of  you  now  and  then, 
for  I  get  thinking  of  you  anxiously  sometimes.  I 
don't  suppose  I  shall  be  from  home  again  till 
Christmas  :  then  in  town;  but  I  fear  you  will  not 
be  to  be  seen  then.  Be  sure  I  shall  try  to  see  you 
whenever  I  can,  for  your  trials  deepen  my  feeling 
of  interest  in  you  ;  nevertheless,  you  have  cause 
for  great  praises  still. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXIIL— TO  LADY  ***** 

October  20,  1845. 

My  dear  Lady 

I  do  not  think  I  can  be  happy  any  longer  with- 
out writing  to  you ;  and  yet  not  to  make  you 
write,  more  than  six  words.  I  know  how  you  are 
occupied,  with  a  too  painful  certainty,  without 
supposing  you  ill. 

The  calamities  of  others  dwell  much  upon  my 
mind,  when  coming  within  personal  cognizance; 
sometimes  with  great  gratitude;  sometimes  with 


320  LETTERS. 

timid  apprehensiveness ;  as  if  they  must  come  to 
me  next.  I  do  not  consider  this  last  a  feeling  to 
be  encouraged,  because  it  is  a  prejudging  of  the 
Divine  purpose,  and  a  sort  of  self-influence  not  re- 
quired of  us.  I  apprehend,  that  to  think  with 
grateful  satisfaction  how  wre  are  spared  while 
others  suffer,  is  a  better  thing,  and  equally  efficient 
to  secure  sympathy,  and  make  us  to  go  softly. 
That  I  think  of  your  daughter,  and  of  your  suffer- 
ing with  her  and  for  her,  is  not  surprising,  missing 
the  continual  pleasure  of  your  letters,  and  know- 
ing that  illness  or  sorrowful  occupation  is  the 
cause.  I  will  hope  not  the  former.  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you,  say  anything  to  you,  or  anything 
about  you,  in  all  your  suspended  labours  1 

I  am  quite  settled  in  again  for  the  winter,  and 
hope,  if  health  and  peace  is  granted,  now  to  com- 
plete the  book  some  time  in  hand.  We  are  think- 
ing much,  perhaps  as  often  before,  with  exaggera- 
tion, of  the  condition  of  the  sister  island.  At  all 
hands,  a  trying  winter  seems  preparing  for  the 
poor.  I  doubt  not,  because  I  have  had  too  long 
observation  of  the  fact,  that  something  will  turn 
out  to  lessen  the  difficulties  that  overhang.  In 
public  and  in  private,  1  have  always  seen  it  so. 
No  calamity,  no  grief,  no  difficulty,  proves  as 
great  in  fact,  as  it  seems  in  idea;  and  that  by 
reason  of  some  uncalculated  good  thrown  provi- 
dentially into  it.  Have  you  not  seen  it  so,  not  as 
an  accident,  but  as  a  rule  in  the  Divine  economy? 
T  think  I  have,  and  it  makes  me  always  rather 


LETTERS. 


321 


impatient  of  croakers  and  alarmists,  in  their  talk 
of  things  to  come.  Nevertheless,  we  have  much 
to  think  of,  and  much  to  watch  and  wait  for,  in 
the  aspect  of  things  around  us.  The  secession  of 
Messrs.  Newman  &  Co.,  seems  to  me  unmixed 
good:  it  will  undeceive  the  conscientious  and 
alarm  the  time-serving,  who  were  following  in 
their  steps,  but  never  meant  their  conclusion ;  and 
I  think  it  will  open  the  eyes  of  the  rulers  in  Church 
and  State  to  all  they  care  about:  the  political 
and  hierarchical  consequence  of  encouraging  the 
movement.  *  *  *  I  should  like,  for  my  own  part, 
a  more  expansive  besom,  and  a  wider  sweep.  I 
suppose  this  union  attempt  at  Liverpool  is  after 
your  own  heart.  It  would  be  after  mine,  if  I  had 
any  hope  of  its  success,  but  am  fearful  it  will  lack 
results.  Nevertheless,  it  is  worth  the  trial,  for  the 
sin  of  God's  people  is  enormous :  not  by  separa- 
tion from  the  church,  or  adherence  to  it,  but  by 
separation  and  disavowal  of  each  other.  I  know 
nothing,  however,  of  this,  or  anything  but  what  I 
see  in  the  newspapers  and  magazines;  so  com- 
pletely am  I  secluded  here  from  the  intercourse  of 
men,  religiously  and  politically  informed ;  there- 
fore am  simply  prating  my  own  thoughts,  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  talking  to  you,  I  believe.  I  will 
trouble  you  with  no  more,  lest  it  prove  ill-timed : 
but  must  be, 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


322  LETTERS. 

LXXIV.— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

December  31,  1845. 

My  dear  Friend, 
Very  sensible  of  your  great  interest  and  feeling 
for  me,  expressed  in  your  note,  and  well  known 
before,  I  have  yet  purposely  delayed  writing,  till 
a  little  further  progress  should  be  made  in  the 
treatment  of  my  complaint,  in  hope  to  report  sa- 
tisfactorily.    Thank  God,  I  am  fully  enabled  to  do 

so.     I   saw   A a^ain  on  Saturday,  and  he 

seemed  quite  satisfied,  and  almost  surprised,  I 
thought,  at  the  measure  of  his  own  success.  My 
general  health  meantime,  is  better  than  it  has  been 
for  a  twelvemonth ;  my  mind  at  rest,  and  my 
spirits  restored.  So  I  think  you  will  say  it  ought 
to  be  as  happy  a  Christmas,  as  gratitude  can  make 
it.  I  have  been  afraid  to  be  too  sanguine,  lest 
another  blow  should  come,  but  that  is  wrong. 
Thankfulness  should  not  be  kept  in  check  by  mis- 
trust;  seeing  that  if  disappointment  do  come,  I 
have  had  proof  that  strength  and  guidance  will 
abundantly  come  with  it.  I  am  more  persuaded 
daily,  of  what  I  care  most  about,  bodily;  that  the 
disease  was  an  accident,  whilst  there  is  every 
reason  now  to  believe,  it  will  be  entirely  removed. 
Such  is  the  aspect  now;  it  may  be  otherwise;  but 
I  am  trying  to  do,  what  I  am  sure,  it  is  best  to  do, 
to  live  each  day  separately,  enjoying  its  own  good, 


LETTERS  323 

submitting  to  its  own  evil;  but  not  losing  the  bene- 
fit and  present  grace  of  either,  in  looking  forward 
to  what  may  be  hereafter.  If  we  did  always  so, 
few  days  there  would  be,  in  which  thankfulness 
for  good  possessed,  would  not  preponderate;  and 
those  few  would  not  be  farther  darkened,  by  appre- 
hensions and  regrets.  It  is  my  nature  to  be  too 
timid,  too  apprehensive,  too  imaginative  of  unreal 
evils;  but  this  is  not  creditable  to  faith  and  love, 
and  I  would  have  it  otherwise.  "  He  shall  be  de- 
livered from  fear  of  evil,"  is  a  great  promise. 
Thank  you,  dear,  for  all  you  write,  of  kindly  and 
of  spiritual  feeling.  You  are  very  kind  to  propose 
#  *  #  *.  We  made  our  yearly  visit  at  Christmas 
in  town,  and  may  not  at  present  egress  again. 
Indeed  I  am  too  marvellously  well  to  make  it  at 
all  necessary: — there  have  been  times  and  may 
be  again,  when  I  have  thought  it  would  be  a  great 
relief  to  stay  a  few  days  with  friends,  to  change 
the  current  of  things;  and  should  such  return,  I 
shall  remember  what  you  said,  and  ask  you  if  it 
will  suit  you  to  receive  us.  Every  kind  wish  and 
blessing  of  the  season,  to  you  and  yours. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


324 


LETTERS. 

LXXV.— TO  MRS.  M . 

May,  1846. 


My  dear  Mrs.  M- 


Thank  you,  dear,  for  your  salutations,  pleasing 
reports,  and  kind  inquiries.  I  thought  on  you  on 
Sunday.  I  cannot  say  wistfully.  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  a  dies  non,  so  far  as  human  minis- 
trations are  concerned,  whereas  my  exhilarated 
spirits,  and  the  delights  surrounding  me,  supply  at 
once  the  temple  and  the  music.  I  am  so  much 
better,  so  different  to  my  own  feelings.     I  had  a 

mind  to  ask  you,  if  the  Mrs.  W of  Queen's 

Terrace  is  still  there,  so  little  can  I  believe  that 
this  is  she.  The  weather  has  been  so  exquisite, 
the  place  is  so  beautiful,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  we  are  enjoying  it ;  perhaps  it  needs  the  long 
and  dreary  weight  of  dulness  that  has  been  upon 
me,  to  feel  the  delight  of  being  again  alive,  in  full 
enjoyment  of  God  in  his  works,  and  of  his  works 
in  him.  In  these  best  moments,  when  the  soul 
goes  free  of  earthly  pressure,  we  do  not  feel  the 
need  of  earthly  help ;  but,  alas !  the  pressure  will 
return,  and  because  "the  well  is  deep,"  we  then 
need  the  stronger  arm  to  help  us  to  draw  there- 
from ;  and  very  sad,  and  very  saddening  it  is,  that 
with  three  churches,  the  several  ministers  of  which 
seem  really  intent  to  do  their  duty,  and  two  or 
three  curates  beside;  the  preaching  is  so  ineffi- 


LETTERS. 


cient,  one  can  scarcely  suppose  a  slumbering  soul 
wakened,  or  a  waking  one  elevated  by  any  one  of 
them.  Well,  well,  in  that  blest  time  you  talk  of, 
we  shall  have  done  with  our  rushlights;  to  fear 
their  removal,  or  bewail  their  dimness,  where 
neither  sun  nor  moon  will  be  any  more  needed, 
but  "  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof."  Aye  truly, 
as  you  suggest,  if  this  exquisite  creation  be  the 
place  accursed  of  our  captivity,  what  will  be  the 
beauty,  call  it  earth  or  heaven,  of  our  kingly 
dwelling-place,  when  we  reign  with  Christ.  The 
hvo  last  words  comprise  all  I  know,  and  all  I  care 
about  it.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  my  five  children 
are  better,  all  kindness  to  them  and  remembrance 
to  dear  friends.  Do  not  expect  us  before  Mondajr. 
I  am  afraid  to  look  sadly  glum  when  the  time 
comes,  but  ever, 

Affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXVL— TO  MR.  B 

August  20,  1846. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Often  in  the  thoughts  of  my  head  upon  my  bed, 

it  has  occurred  to  me  "What  must  Mr.  B 

think?  no  inquiries,  no  renewal  of  invitation,  or 
notice  taken  of  his  illness."     I  have  been  very  ill 
28 


326  LETTERS. 

too,  worse  than  you,  in  some  sense,  since  you  seem 
to  have  been  about  your  business.  I  have  only 
wandered  from  room  to  room  these  five  weeks. 
Illness,  incident  to  the  extraordinary  season,  I  sup- 
pose, so  dashing  me,  and  laying  me  prostrate  alto- 
gether, it  is  with  difficulty  I  raise  my  head  high 
enough  to  write  even  this.  Do  not  come  to  see 
me  now,  though  I  want  to  see  you,  for  half  an 
hour's  conversation  would  be  a  quarter  too  much. 
But  write  and  let  me  know,  at  times,  where  and 
how  you  are,  and  as  soon  as  I  am  stronger,  I  will 
answer  you  properly. 

Our  Father  thus  lets  us  approach  the  golden 
gates,  and  peep  through  the  key-hole.  I  see  only 
brightness,  what  do  you  see?  Oh  yes,  the  book 
was  done  before  this  illness  came.  I  have  scarce 
wit  enough  now,  to  correct  the  press. 

We  are  going  to  the  sea  as  soon  as  T  am  able. 

Mr.  M is  gone  to  travel  for  four  or  five  weeks 

quite  disabled.  Every  body  is  suffering  except  my 
precious  husband,  who  is  quite  well;  and  shall  add 
to  this.     I  cannot,  but  am, 

Very  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LETTERS. 


327 


LXXVIL— TO  MRS.  M . 

Hastings,  August  31,  1846. 

My  dear  Mrs.  M , 

Your  kind  inquiries  deserve  a  more  quick  reply, 
but  reports  having  gone  to  Woolwich,  which 
would  probably  reach  you,  I  thought  to  wait  for 
an  amended  report.  The  time  for  it  however  is 
not  yet,  and  we  must  wrait  God's  further  pleasure. 
I  do  not  think  I  am  better,  I  should  say  I  am 
worse;  but  that  one  does  not  discern,  between  the 
sofa  and  the  bed,  how  really  ill  one  is ;  and  so  it 
may  be  only,  that  I  have  discovered  in  attempting 
to  perform  the  function  of  health,  that  I  am  more 
ill  than  I  thought  I  w7as ;  and  do  not,  as  I  expected, 
recover  all  at  once.  Nevertheless  God  has  favour- 
ed and  prospered  us  in  everything — all  things  turn 
out  well  for  us.  Fagged  out  with  the  journey,  we 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  get  good  accommodation 
at  the  best  hotel,  the  place  being  crammed,  where 
we  had  to  stay  and  abide  the  noise,  waiting  for 
lodgings  on  Saturday.  Beautiful  indeed  is  the  lit- 
tle apartment  we  have  got,  the  very  best  we  could 
have;  and  beautiful  all  that  we  see  around  us. 
Then  everybody  is  so  good  to  the  litlle  suffering 
woman — strangers  send  her  beautiful  fruit,  and  the 
very  waiters  are  careful  of  her.  And  then  her 
precious  dear  husband  is  never  out  of  her  sight, 
enough  at  all  other  times  to  cure  her  of  anything. 


328 


LETTERS. 


This  tender  generous  air,  in  contrast  with  our 
own,  so  ungracious  and  hard,  it  seems  to  me  to 
blight  what  it  blows  upon,  is  so  balmy  and  deli- 
cious, fanning  you  just  as  if  it  knew  you  were  ill, 
and  was  afraid  to  hurt  you ;  as  if  God  had  tem- 
pered it!  and  so  he  has  to  his  shorn  lamb  and 
feeble  sheep.  Then  why  with  all  am  I  not  better? 
Perhaps  because  he  does  not  mean  I  should  be. 
Be  it  so,  even  as  he  will ;  I  feel  that  in  being  here, 
we  are  doing,  as  well  as  waiting,  his  pleasure; 
which  I  did  not  feel,  so  long  as  I  refused  to  try  the 
most  probable  means  of  restoration,  unequal  as  I 
really  did  feel  to  the  exertion. 

Here  I  can  be  much  in  the  open  air,  sitting  on 
the  shore,  or  drawn  about  in  a  chair,  and  even 
from  my  window  breathe  in  the  sea.  In  appetite 
and  cheerfulness  I  have  greatly  gained,  but  my 
breathing  is  worse,  &c,  &c.  My  husband  is 
getting    anxious   in    not   having    medical  advice. 

Tell  Mr.  B this  if  you  see  him,  and  that  he  is 

in  some  hurry  to  hear  from  him  in  answTer  to  his 
letter.  Thus  you  see,  dear,  whatever  be  the  final 
issue  of  my  illness,  I  have  nothing  but  mercies  and 
loving-kindness  by  the  way;  say  rather  indulgences 
of  every  kind,  which  thousands  more  suffering  can- 
not have.  I  wish  that  you  were  all  here,  except 
that  I  believe  a  more  bracing  air  might  suit  you 
better, — St.  Leonard's  to  wit,  which  I  hate ;  this  I 
love.     If  you  are  kind  enough  to  write  again,  do 

not  omit  any  news  you  may  have  of  Mr.  M , 

as  well  as  the  health  of  your  fever-patients,  and 


LETTERS. 


329 


anything  that  may  have  been  heard  of  the  health 
of  our  man  of  God.  This  is  a  great  letter  for 
these  times;  pray  for  us,  not  for  life  or  death,  but 
for  strength  to  wait  and  bear.  With  all  love  to 
the  loved, 

Ever  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXVIII.— TO  MRS.  *  *  *. 

Hastings,  September  4,  1846. 

My  dear  Friend, 
Too  long  neglected.  For  the  feelings  of  my 
kind  friends,  as  well  as  my  own  idleness,  the  bulle- 
tins were  safest  in  my  dear  husband's  hands,  so  long 
as  he  could  throw  his  couleur  de  rose  upon  them. 
But  now  it  is  time  that  I  speak  for  myself.  I  am 
not  getting  better,  dearest,  I  have  never  thought  I 
was:  but  rapidly  worse  since  I  came  here,  in  res- 
pect of  my  breathing,  which  must  be  the  material 
thing.  We  have  called  in  the  soberest  and  most 
experienced  man  we  could  find,  who,  having  plied 
me  with  the  stethescope,  pronounces  my  left  lung 
to  be  consolidated ;  so  accounting  for  all  the  dis- 
tressing symptoms.  If  this  is  so,  and  I  see  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  it,  though  my  precious  husband  would 
fain  be  incredulous  still,  it  becomes  simply  a  ques- 
tion of  lime  and  amelioration.  Unless  I  greatly 
28* 


330  LETTERS. 

improve  in  a  few  days,  of  which  1  see  no  promise, 
we  shall  leave  this  place  and  make  progress  to- 
ward   London;    staying    perhaps   at    Tunbridge 
Wells  a  week,  and  perhaps  elsewhere,  to  see  if 
any  change  makes  any  difference.     If  not,  some 
London  physician  must  sign  the  warrant,  and  we 
must   proceed   to    counsel   what   is   to   be    done. 
Should   his  chariot-it'heels  be  slow   in    coming,  a 
mild,  dry  nook  that  might  allow  me  still  to  take 
the  air,  and  feel  the  sun,  would  greatly  ease  the 
yet  remaining  way ;  whereas  at  Woolwich  there 
is  no  prospect  for  me  but  my  bed.     For  my  hus- 
band's sake,  I  would  have  all  done  to  prolong, 
what  for  me  cannot  be  too  short;  but  the  almost 
convulsive  agonies  I  sometimes  suffer  for  want  of 
breath,  makes  such  continuance  doubtful,  unless 
change  of  place  relieves  it.     I  know  I  am  afflicting 
you,  my  dearest,  by  all  this.     You  scolded  me  at 
Woolwich  for  the  hint  I  dropped  in  the  form  of 
wishes.     I  had,  a  prescience  then  of  what  was 
coming,  without  a   good    reason    to  give   for   it. 
But   why  did    you    scold    me?     More   than    one 
hand,  and  young  hands  too,  have  given  mine  a 
shake   of  congratulation   to-day,  on  hearing   the 
doctor's  fiat,  and  wished  they  might  go  too.    Why 
not   so,  dearest?     Were   you   ever  parted   from 
your  best  beloved,  and  felt  no  wish  to  join  him  ? 
That  is  impossible.     There   is   but   one  counter- 
thought  that  stays  the  prayer:  for  that  one  I  keep 
silence  and  say  nothing.     At  present  I  suffer  only 
in   my  breath,  but  it   is   great   distress  at   times. 


LETTERS-  33 1 

Thank  you,  these  chairs  are  perfectly  comfortable 
to  me.  With  no  other  exercise,  even  the  shaking 
is  beneficial,  and  my  moments  of  greatest  ease  are 
when  drawn  through  these  soft  soothing  breezes. 
Gladly  would  I  live  and  die  in  this  sweet  place, 
endeared  to  me  by  many  recollections,  chiefly  of 
those  I  am  shortly  to  rejoin.  But  that  may  not 
be.  We  must  be  near  to  London,  and  I  trouble 
you  with  all  this,  because  I  feel  the  friends  who 
love  us  could  do  us  no  greater  good  at  this  junc- 
ture, that  to  suggest  the  place  wherein  to  wait, 
least  painfully,  the  final  issue.  We  talk  about 
Streatham,  Brixton,  Clapham,  Richmond :  but  w7e 
know  too  little  of  the  localities  to  judge.  If  you 
can  advise  us,  do.  I  am  not  of  those  who  run 
about  the  world  to  prolong  a  doomed  life  at  any 
cost,  but  I  have  seen  long  illnesses  so  lightened  by 
keeping  out  of  doors,  to  even  the  last  hour,  espe- 
cially in  consumption,  that  I  cannot  help  dreading 
my  cold  mansion  at  Woolwich,  whence  egress 
would  be  impossible.  I  am  now  not  properly  able 
to  walk  up  stairs,  and  shall  probably  not  long  be 
able  to  walk  at  all;  not  for  want  of  legs,  but  want 
of  breath ;  however,  to  change  seems  difficult. 
"  God  will  provide."  If  a  few  months  be  all,  it 
very  little  signifies.  Now  write  to  me,  and  tell  me 
that  you  will  not  fret.  I  know  you  love  me,  but  I 
can  render  you  nothing  but  to  love  again,  and  that 
I  will  do  in  heaven. 

Tell  dear  Mr.  B to  comfort  and  uphold  my 

precious  husband,  who  will  not  yet  give  his  con- 


332  LETTERS. 

sent  to  let  me  go.     I  would  I  could  take  him  with 
me!     Excuse  this  almost  first  note  I  have  written, 
too  full  of  all  but  what  I  wanted  to  say,  dearest. 
Most  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXIX. TO  MRS.  *  *    * 

Hastings,  Sept.  5,  1840. 

My  dearest  Friend, 

It  is  my  fault  you  have  not  heard.  I  claimed  to 
write  myself,  for  surely  best  from  me  to  your  fond 
heart  will  come  the  news  that  you  will  call  sad ; 
and  compassed,  blessed,  embraced  as  I  am  with 
kindest  interest  on  every  side,  I  have  scarcely  a 
right  to  say  it  is  not  sad  that  will  make  others  so; 
though  not  myself.  My  illness  has  increased,  the 
serious  token  of  it  with  extraordinary  rapidity. 
My  breathing  is  terrible,  and  obliged  us  to  call  in 
advice  here;  and  the  stethescope  having  been  ap- 
plied, there  seems  no  doubt  it  is  a  consolidation  of 
the  left  lung.  Dearest,  God  has  spoken,  and  we 
have  no  more  to  do.  If  this  be  true,  it  is  only  a 
question  of  more  or  less  time,  more  or  less  tempo- 
rary alleviation.  Never,  never  can  it  be  sad  to 
me  to  stand  still  and  watch  for  the  parting  of  the 


LETTERS.  333 

waters  of  Jordan  to  let  me  pass,  and  close  on  all  I 
desire  to  see  no  more;  and  not  from  me  can  ever 
the  cry  be  heard  for  a  little  more  time  to  suffer 
and  to  sin,  and  wait  and  long  for  Him  my  soul  de- 
sires. If  it  ever  should  be  so,  He  will  have  cause 
to  say  I  have  held  strange  language  with  him  here- 
tofore ;  when  for  very  love,  as  I  believe,  I  have 
entreated,  implored,  reproached  Him  that  He 
would  not  let  me  come  to  Him,  when  I  could  not 
be  satisfied  with  any  thing  beside.  No,  no  ! — His 
Spirit  will  not  let  me  be  so  false — to-night,  to- 
morrow, if  it  be  His  pleasure !  But  there  is  one 
thought  that  stays  the  prayer — my  precious  hus- 
band is  not  yet  content ;  it  takes  him  by  surprise, 
he  thinks  a  prolonged  period  of  expectation,  even 
without  hope,  would  be  good  for  him — would  re- 
concile him — wean  him — water  and  mature  per- 
haps the  Divine  life  in  his  own  soul.  If  so,  be  it 
so.  At  least  we  must  do  all  that  can  be  done. 
Neither  am  I  indifferent,  if  awhile  his  chariot- 
wheels  delay  their  coming,  how  that  interval  is 
passed.  A  milder  atmosphere  than  Woolwich 
is  indispensable.  Our  house  at  Woolwich  might 
soon  be  got  rid  of,  but  where  find  another ;  our 
thoughts  run  many  ways,  mine  run  as  they  always 
did  run,  after  my  affections.  I  do  not  like  to  go 
where  I  love  nothing.  Then  the  gospel,  its  preach- 
ed voice  I  shall  probably  hear  no  more ;  but  to  my 
husband,  and  in  private  to  myself,  the  ministry  is 

important.     My  choice  is  towards ;  or ; 

— perhaps itself  will  be  too  damp  and  low ; 


334  LETTERS. 

but  is  there  not  higher  ground  within  a  mile  or  so; 

or ,  or  some  common  or  other; — not  a 

town,  not  a  street,  but  where  I  may  sit  under  a 
tree,  or  be  drawn  about  in  a  garden,  or  at  least 
breathe  to  the  last  the  pure  breath  of  heaven,  and 
see  nature's  beauties,  and  hear  nature's  music. 

This  is  my  whole  desire  if  I  live  ;  If  I  die  imme- 
diately it  little  matters  where.  About  those  parts 
I  have  many  friends,  who  would  watch  over  me 
temporally,  and  sympathize  with  me  spiritually. 
But  you,  dear,  to  whom,  whenever  I  depart,  I  shall 
go  more  indebted  for  past  kindness  than  to  any 
other  being  left  behind,  need  I  say  how  pleasant  it 
would  be  to  me,  to  be  near  enough  to  see  you 
more  frequently ;  to  receive  the  out-pourings  of 
your  own  heart's  sorrows;  perhaps  to  lighten  them 
by  my  own  growing  joys.  All  this  must  be  God's 
arrangement  if  he  wills  it;  for  we  are  much  at  a 
loss. 

I  tell  it  you,  on  the  chance  your  knowledge  of 
the  neighbourhood  may  do  us  service.  We  came 
here  on  Monday.  My  daily  increasing  suffering, 
simply  from  my  breathing — for  I  suffer  nothing 
else — a  difficulty  amounting,  at  times,  to  almost 
convulsive  struggles  for  existence,  warn  us  to  try 
another  change. 

We  mean  to  go  to  Hawkhurst  for  a  night  or 
two  ;  thence,  if  wre  can  get  lodgings,  to  Tunbridge 
Wells.  Monday  or  Tuesday  you  might  write  to 
the  former,  afterwards  to  the  latter  place,  to  the 
post-office.     1  have  written  more  than  I  am  well 


LETTERS.  gcjfj 

able,  and  should  write  to  many  others.  Give 
prayers  to  us  both — most  for  the  comfort  of  my 
most  dear  and  precious  husband.  This  must  be 
all  now.  If  there  be  time,  I  shall  have  more,  much 
more  to  say.     Bless  you,  dearest. 

Yours,  most  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilson. 


LXXX— TO  MRS.  M- 


Hastings,  Sept.  6,  1846. 

Dear  Mrs.  M , 

The  Sabbath  bells  have  rung  you  to  church,  and 
hundreds  of  others;  among  the  rest,  my  dear  dis- 
tressed husband,  unused  to  break  the  bread  of 
peace  alone;  may  Jesus  comfort  him  !  it  is  my  only 
care.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  brighter  a 
Sabbath  I  am  allowed  to  contemplate;  not  through 
the  key-hole  now,  the  door  itself  is  opening.  My 
illness  has  taken  a  more  serious  character,  is  con- 
sidered now  to  be  upon  the  lungs,  and  capable  of 
nothing  but  alleviation :  longer  or  shorter  as  the 
progress  may  be.  Too  soon  for  me,  the  bright 
dawn  cannot  come,  who  have  grown  so  sadly 
weary  of  the  night;  nay  on  that  very  night  itself 
a  light  has  come,  that  was  not  there  before,  since 


336 


LETTERS. 


I  was  told  the  fact,  cheering  the  dark,  and  making 
the  fair  more  beautiful.  But  the  blow  has  come 
suddenly  on  my  precious  husband,  and  he  thinks 
if  I  linger  awhile,  even  in  sickness,  and  without 
hope,  he  shall  be  better  reconciled  and  profited  by 
the  prolonged  warning.  If  this  be  so,  I  am  con- 
tent to  wait.  At  present  I  only  suffer  from  dis- 
tressed breathing,  and  utter  incapability  of  any 
kind  of  effort.  As  I  am  getting  manifestly  worse 
every  day,  we  are  advised  to  leave  here  immedi- 
ately, to  try  another  change.  We  propose  to-mor- . 
row  to  move  to  Hawkhurst  for  a  night  or  two,  and 
thence  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  if  we  can  secure  fit 
accommodation  ;  if  not,  somewhere  toward  home. 
I  hope  no  new  troubles  have  prevented  your  writ- 
ing to   me.     I  feel  very  anxious  to  hear  of  the 

M s,  unheard  of  when  Lady  W wrote.    I 

do  not  think  of' your  hearing  him  to-day,  but  trust 
he  may  be  on  the  return,  with  renewed  powers,  to 
warn  the  happy,  and  to  cheer  the  sad,  with  his 
most  blessed  message. 

By  me,  the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  ne- 
ver so  wisely,  will  probably  be  no  more  heard  from 
the  pulpit.  We  do  not  want,  by  day-light,  the 
guiding  stars  of  night:  provision  for  the  living, 
not  the  dying.  Nevertheless,  if  I  reach  home  with 
breath  enough  remaining,  I  do  hope  yet  to  speak 
with  all  my  friends  again  of  the  past  and  coming 
things,  in  which  we  take  mutual  pleasure.  The 
difficulty  of  speaking  is  a  great  distress  to  me  now, 


LETTERS.  337 

wishing  to  talk  more  with  my  husband,  of  what 
can  be  no  longer  kept  out  of  sight;  nevertheless, 
there  may  be  more  time  allowed  for  this.  We 
shall  probably  be  at  home  within  a  fortnight,  even 
if  no  more  pressing  symptoms  bring  us  forward. 
If  it  appears  probable  I  shall  live  the  winter,  it 
must  not  be  at  Woolwich,  I  apprehend  ;  if  not,  it 
little  matters.  God  must  give  us  guidance  in  this 
matter,  for  we  know  scarcely  what  to  do,  or  where 
to  go.  Remember  me  most  affectionately  to  your 
dear  girls.  Write  to  me,  if  you  can,  at  Tunbridge 
Wells,  unless  to-morrow  at  Hawkhurst,  and  let 
me  be, 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson. 

Mr.  B writes  that  people  live  with  consoli- 
dated lungs  for  twenty  years !  What  a  Job's 
comforter !  to  one  so  nearly  without  breath  al- 
ready ! 


29 


338  LETTERS. 

LXXXL— TO  MRS.  *  *  * 

Hawkhurst,  Sept  8,  1846. 
My  dear  Friend, 
It  is  even  so.  He  has  heard  my  cries;  He  has 
seen  my  tears;  not  to  add  unto  my  life  fifteen 
years, — I  have  not  asked  him  for  as  many  days; 
but  to  turn  another  way  the  current  of  a  disease  I 
so  peculiarly  dreaded.  So  at  least  it  appears,  and 
if  it  so  proves,  remember,  for  encouragement,  it 
is  a  direct  answer  to  prayer.  When  I  thought  I 
had  an  incurable  disease  I  did  not  ask  a  miracle 
to  cure  it ;  but  I  did  ask  earnestly  that  something 
else  might  carry  me  off  before  the  time  arrived  ; 
and  certainly  I  never,  so  asking,  left  my  knees 
without  an  encouraged  feeling  that  some  how  or 
other  my  prayer  was  heard.  Apparently  now  the 
answer  is  made  plain.  My  illness  has  assumed  a 
decided  character,  my  lungs  are  affected,  and 
faster  or  slower,  I  seem  to  be  sinking  into  con- 
sumption. At  Hastings,  where  I  went  to  mend 
myself,  I  grew  daily  worse,  and  the  doctor  then 
first  warned  me  of  my  real  state.  We  conse- 
quently left  it  yesterday,  to  try  other  air,  and  move 
ourselves  gradually  home.  In  this  sweet  spot  we 
rest  ourselves  a  night  or  two,  and  proceed  to  Tun- 
bridge  Wells  if  we  get  lodgings,  but  shall  in  any 
case  make  homeward  next  week.  What  next,  we 
know  not;  if  my  life  is  likely  to  be  prolonged,  we 


LETTERS. 


339 


must  remove  for  the  winter.  A  little  time  will  de- 
velope  the  more  or  less  rapidity  of  that  which 
seems  to  admit  of  no  doubt  and  no  remedy.  One 
lung  is  said  to  be  consolidated :  and  my  respiration 
is  so  dreadful !  at  times  almost  an  agony.  I  have 
no  other  suffering  at  present ;  but  that  is  great, 
making  me  afraid  to  move  or  speak,  lest  I  bring 
on  a  paroxysm.  To  you  I  need  not  say,  how  all 
this  is  to  me:  but  my  darling  husband  earnestly 
pleads  for  time:  he  thinks  it  would  soften  the  blow, 
and  increase  its  usefulness.  God  only  knows  that, 
and  if  it  would  I  am  content  to  linger.  My  dear 
friend,  as  many  will  hear,  and  will  not  understand, 
why  1  want  no  time  of  preparation,  often  desired 
by  far  holier  ones  than  I :  I  tell  you  why,  and  shall 
tell  others,  and  so  shall  you.  It  is  not  because  I 
am  so  holy,  but  because  I  am  so  sinful.  The  pe- 
culiar character  of  my  religious  experience  has 
always  been  a  deep,  an  agonizing  sense  of  sin: 
not  past,  but  present  sin ;  the  sin  of  yesterday,  of 
to-day,  confessed  with  anguish  hard  to  be  endured, 
and  cries  for  pardon  that  could  not  be  unheard ; 
each  day  cleansed  anew  in  Jesus'  blood,  and  each 
day  loving  more  for  more  forgiven ;  each  day 
more  and  more  hateful  in  my  own  sight,  and  hope- 
less of  being  better;  what  can  I  do  in  death,  I 
have  not  done  in  life?  What  do,  in  this  week, 
when  I  am  told  I  cannot  live,  other  than  I  did  last 
week,  when  I  knew  it  not?  alas,  there  is  but  one 
thing  left  undone:  to  serve  Him  better;  and  the 
death-bed  is  no  place  for  that.     Therefore  I  say,  if 


340  LETTERS. 

I  am  not  ready  now,  I  shall  not  be  so  by  delay,  so 
far  as  I  have  to  do  with  it.  If  He  has  more  to  do 
in  me,  that  is  His  part.  I  need  not  ask  him  not  to 
spoil  his  work  by  too  much  haste.  I  try  to  ask 
nothing,  for  my  loved  husband's  sake:  but  I  am  a 
timid  and  impatient  sufferer. 

Now  I  know  in  all  this,  I  am  putting  you  to  grief; 
but  you  must  hear  of  it,  if  not  from  me ;  and  ought 
not  to  be  left  to  do  so.  This  is  as  much  as  I  can 
write  now.  If  power  remains  you  shall  hear  from 
me  again.  Pray  for  me,  and  write  to  Tunbridge 
Wells  Post  Office. 

Very,  very  affectionately  yours, 

Caroline  Wilson-. 


LXXXI.— TO  LADY  ****** 

Tunbridge  Wells,  September  16,  184G. 

Dear  Lady 

Hardly,  and  with  much  delay,  I  consented  to  let 
my  husband  tell  you  that  God  has  spoken  now, 
audibly,  and  not  in  broken  whispers,  as  of  late, 
respecting  my  failing  health.  To  lose  the  power 
of  speaking  or  of  writing,  just  when  I  feel  I  have 
most  to  say,  is  very  painful  to  me.  Doubtful  now, 
whether  they  may  be  in  any  measure  restored, 
seeing  them  at  present  diminishing  every  day;  one 


LETTERS. 


341 


word  I  must  have  with  you  while  I  can.  The 
bright,  the  blessed  hour  for  which  I  have  toiled 
and  waited  so  many  years;  the  panacea  at  all 
times  of  every  painful,  every  fearful  thought,  has 
seemed  in  my  spasmodic  agonies  of  brealhlessness, 
immediately  at  hand;  of  these  I  have  been  much 
relieved  by  a  distinguished  practitioner  here.  I 
cannot  count  the  issue  now  by  days,  but  whether 
weeks  or  months  or  years,  it  is,  I  believe,  ina- 
verlible. 

It  is  sudden,  but  you  know  how  welcome,  as 
surely  He  knows,  who  has  heard  my  cries  under 
the  loathed  burthen  of  remaining  sin,  with  almost 
reproaches,  that  He  kept  not  his  word,  to  fill  the 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteousness.    The 

relief  derived  by  Mr.  H 's  treatment  delays 

us  here  some  days  longer ; — then  to  Woolwich.  I 
want  to  say  some  parting  words  of  love  and  gra- 
titude and  sympathy,  but  I  find  I  cannot.  Write 
to  me,  I  can  yet  enjoy  and  profit  by  your  words, 
and  will  repay  by  proxy  if  not  otherwise.  Believe, 
all  I  would  but  cannot  say, 

Most  affectionately, 

Caroline  Wilsox. 


29* 


342  •  LETTERS. 

This  was  the  last  letter  my  dear  wife  wrote. 
The  night  which  followed  was  passed  without 
much  uneasiness;  and  when  she  awoke  in  the 
morning  after  a  short  sleep,  it  pleased  God  that 
she  experienced  neither  pain  nor  the  slightest  rest- 
lessness of  body;  her  voice  was  little  altered,  and 
her  mind  as  composed  and  clear  as  before  her 
illness. 

Finding  herself  much  weaker,  she  said  : — "  Oh  ! 
if  I  die  to-day,  what  a  mercy!  but  the  blessing 
would  be  so  great  I  dare  not  calculate  upon  it." 

Having  taken  her  breakfast  and  looked  out  upon 
the  beautiful  sunny  prospect  which  the  open  win- 
dow commanded,  she  exclaimed: — 

"  I  want  no  more  of  the  world !  how  dark  is  all 
behind — how  bright  the  prospect  before !  so  un- 
clouded— so  safe — so  secure!  Jesus!  so  true  to  me! 
I  so  untrue  to  thee!  whom  have  I  in  heaven  but 
Thee — and  there  is  none  on  earth  I  desire  besides 
Thee  !" 

At  another  time  : — 

"  This  is  my  bridal  day,  '  the  beginning  of  my 
life.'  I  wish  there  should  be  no  mistake  about  the 
reason  of  my  desire  to  depart  and  to  be  with  Christ. 
I  confess  myself  the  vilest,  chiefest  of  sinners,  and 
I  desire  to  go  to  Him,  that  I  may  be  rid  of  the 
burden  of  sin — indwelling  sin — the  sin  of  my  na- 
ture— not  the  past — repented  of  every  day — but 
the  present,  hourly,  momentary  sin,  which  I  do 
commit,  or  may  commit — the  sense  of  which  at 
times  drives  me  half  mad  with  grief." 


LETTERS.  343 

Some  very  dear  friends  had  come  from  Lee  to 
see  her.  To  Mrs.  B.  who  was  applying  Eau  de 
Cologne  to  her  face,  she  said,  "  Oh !  if  this  is  dy- 
ing, what  mercy!"  To  their  daughter  she  said, 
"  Jessie,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  be  like  me,  as  I  am 
the  chief  of  sinners,  but  as  I  am  in  Christ."  When 
they  had  gone  away  for  a  short  time,  I  asked  her 
if  she  would  like  to  see  them  again.  "  Oh  yes,  let 
them  come,  what  have  they  to  hear  but  of  the 
love,  faithfulness,  and  truth  of  God — but  at  what 
time  did  they  say  they  would  come  V — "  At  four 
o'clock."  "  They  must  come  soon,  as  I  am  sink- 
ing very  fast."  Afterwards  she  said; — "I  have 
written  a  book  to  testify  that  God  is  Love  !  I  now 
testify  that  He  is  Faithfulness  and  Truth.  I  never 
asked  a  petition  of  God,  that  sooner  or  later,  I  did 
not  obtain." 

About  half  past  four,  doubtless  feeling  that  the 
desire  of  her  soul  to  be  with  her  Saviour  was 
about  to  be  granted,  she  said,  "Oh !  I  am  sinking 
so  fast !"  These  were  the  last  words  she  uttered, 
and  her  countenance  glowing  with  heavenly  joy, 
at  twenty-three  minutes  past  five,  she  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus  without  a  struggle. 


344  LETTERS. 

The  following  lines  are  taken  from  her  "Poeti- 
cal Catechism ." — 

Our  home  !  what  spirit  has  not  felt  the  charm, 
The  untold  meaning,  hidden  in  that  word  7 

Can  any  not  recal  one  throb  of  joy 

That  swell'd  the  bosom  when  that  name  was  heard  ? 

Far  banished  from  the  beings  most  beloved, 
Strangers  and  pilgrims  on  a  foreign  soil ; 

Where  even  that  we  have  is  scarcely  ours, 
Claimants  to  nothing  but  to  care  and  toil. 

Chill'd  by  a  rugged  and  ungenial  clime, 
Despised  as  aliens,  taunted  and  disclaimed, 

What  brilliant  visions  animate  the  soul, 

Whene'er  our  country  or  our  home  is  named  1 

Heaven  is  our  home — our  best  beloved  is  there, 
And  there  is  all  that  we  can  call  our  own ; 

Treasures  far  other  than  earth's  borrowed  joys, 
There  are  our  wealth,  our  sceptre,  and  our  crown. 

What  then  is  death !     Is  it  the  mournful  shroud, 
The  soldered  coffin,  and  the  sable  train  ] 

The  brief  inscription,  and  the  mouldering  stone 
That  tells  the  careless  stranger,  we  have  been? 

Mistaken  emblems  of  unreal  ill ! 

Phantoms  that  pale  the  conscious  sinner's  cheek ; 
Spectres  !  that  haunt  us  in  life's  gayest  hours  ! 

When  Christians  die,  how  false  the  tale  you  speak. 

Far  other  visions  crowd  his  closing  eye ; 

Death  comes  to  him  a  messenger  of  love — 
He  hears  angelic  hosts  their  songs  prepare 

To  greet  his  coming  to  the  realms  above. 


LETTERS.  345 

He  sees  the  Saviour  stand  with  hand  outstretched 
To  wipe  the  tears  of  sorrow  from  his  eye ; 

He  hears  the  Father  from  his  lofty  throne, 
Invite  him  to  his  mansion  in  the  sky. 

Behind  him — he  beholds  earth's  thousand  ills, 

With  all  the  folly  of  its  mad  pursuits ; 
And  sin  disrobed  of  passion's  artful  guise, 

Stands  forth  confessed  with  all  its  bitter  fruits. 

Before — what  mortal  accents  may  not  tell 
Something,  life's  grosser  vision  cannot  see, 

The  bright  beginnings  of  eternal  bliss, 
The  gleam  of  coming  immortality ! 


PRAYER. 


O  Lord,  hear  !  O  Lord,  have  mercy !  Thou  seest 
what  I  am.  The  fear  of  thy  judgments  has  taken 
hold  of  me,  I  am  cast  out  from  thy  presence,  there 
is  no  life  remaining  in  me  by  reason  of  this  oppres- 
sion. O  Lord,  how  long  ?  Why  dost  thou  not  come 
unto  me,  to  comfort,  and  to  bless  me.  Have  my 
sins  separated  between  me  and  thee?  Is  it  to  try 
me,  and  to  prove  me,  and  to  show  me  what  is  in 
me? 

O  Lord !  I  confess  my  sin,  and  my  iniquity  is 
ever  before  thee.  I  have  been  wrong  in  every 
thing.  Thou  hast  done  every  thing  for  me,  and  I 
have  rendered  Thee  nothing.  Thou  dwellest  with 
him  that  is  of  a  contrite  spirit ;  a  broken  and  a  con- 
trite heart  thou  wilt  not  despise.  Lord  !  thou  know- 


346 


LETTERS. 


est  my  heart  is  broken,  it  is  contrite,  and  trembleth 
at  thy  word.  Now  then  I  entreat  thee  to  fulfill  thy 
word,  and  speak  peace  to  my  soul.  Lord!  thou 
canst  do  it;  I  know  thou  canst;  I  know  how  great, 
how  sufficient  thou  art.  O  that  I  could  see  thee, 
as  I  have  seen  thee  in  the  sanctuary.  I  want  nothing 
else — thou  knowestthat  I  want  nothing  else.  Jesus, 
Master,  blessed,  blessed  Lord!  O  when  wilt  thou 
return  and  take  me  to  thyself.  Forgive  me  this 
impatience — if  it  be  sin,  O  pardon  it.  Thou  too 
wert  tempted — thou  too  wert  afraid,  thou  hast 
known  the  weight  and  bitterness  of  sin.  O  Jesus, 
pity;  Saviour — help  me,  and  let  not  the  enemy 
prevail  against  me.  Show  me  what  it  is  that  has 
offended  thee.  I  am  utterly  purposed  not  to  offend. 
I  desire  holiness  more  than  my  necessary  food, — 
my  soul  is  athirst  after  righteousness.  I  would  be, 
thou  knowest  that  I  wTould  be,  conformed  in  all 
things  to  thy  will ;  but  I  cannot,  O  I  cannot !  Thou 
hast  tried  my  nature,  thou  knowest  I  have  no  power 
against  my  sins ;  I  lay  myself  in  the  dust  before 
thee.  Wilt  thou  not,  wilt  thou  not  help  me  !  Speak 
one  word  of  peace,  that  I  may  go  on  my  way  re- 
joicing. Speak  the  word,  and  there  will  a  great 
calm.  O  God !  I  will  not  let  thee  go,  unless  thou 
bless  me.  Thou  wilt  bless  me,  thou  wilt  keep  me, 
thou  wilt  bring  me  through.  Be  quieted  within 
me,  O  my  soul,  for  I  shall  yet  praise  Him,  who  is 
the  strength  of  my  life  and  my  portion  for  ever! 

THE  END. 


VALUABLE  AND  IMPORTANT  BOOKS 

LATELY  PUBLISHED  BY 

J.  W.   MOORE,    193   CHESNUT    ST., 

OPPOSITE  THE  STATE  HOUSE. 


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